


Cloths of Heaven

by seraphim_grace



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Historical AU, M/M, inspired by Tigana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “the veil between the worlds is so thin and we can see into their world and they can see into ours and that’s when we see the piskies, beautiful maidens with hair the colour of seaweed. They sit in the shadows, in the dark places singing as they brush out their hair. It is very rare to see one, very few people do, but it is said that if you see them you can tell the future.” She leant down and kissed her son’s forehead, “one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a death and four for a birth, five for silver and six for gold, seven for a heart that’s lost to the cold, eight for heaven and nine for hell, and ten for a secret you never can tell.”“I want to see a piskie, Mama,” Ran said softly.“Not one, little man, but two, never wish to see only one, promise me, you’ll wish for two.”Ran smiled up at her from his pillow. “I promise, Mama, I wish to see two.”Ayako beamed at her son never knowing his wish would come true.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as my 2005 nano, but for some reason was never ported over

“So,” the king of Inabayama said, sitting back at his desk and templing his fingers under his chin, “it is for the best of our kingdom that upon her fifteenth birthday that Aya Fujimiya is married to Lord Crawford of Eressea. This will promote trade between the two lands and to honour the wedding Ran Fujimiya will accompany her for one year, in his role as Captain of the Heaven Guard. Do you have any questions, Lord Fujimiya.”

Ranmura Fujimiya looked at the document the king had read aloud to him and worked out the ramifications to his family. The Fujimiya were rich and powerful, related to the king on the distaff side, and they looked a little alike. “This is satisfactory, majesty,” he said with a low bow, “we are Fujimiya, the right hand of the throne, Aya will do as you ask, but,” he stopped meeting his king’s eye, “might it be possible for the two of them to meet, before the wedding. She is a head strong girl, but well beloved of her mother and myself, I would at least like to see the man she is to marry.”

“I will send word to Eressea that you have accepted the offer and that you would like to meet the boy before the wedding.” He scratched something quickly on the paper with the quill. “Is there anything else, Fujimiya?”

“No, majesty.” He said with another low bow. He waited until he left the room before he let out a deep sigh. Leaning against the door he looked again at the order his king had given him. Eressea was a long way away and he simply did not wish to send his daughter that far, even if the king had made the concession, such as it was, of sending Ran with her. Aya was his heir, his daughter, Ran had been summoned into the Heaven Guard almost before he was born, but Aya would inherit the Fujimiya estates, and now it seemed that they would go to someone else, a foreigner. Taking another deep breath he walked down the hall to break the news to his wife.

 

Ayako Fujimiya had been the most beautiful woman in the kingdom with long berry red hair and eyes the colour of twilight. As she had grown older the star of her beauty about the court seemed to wane, as her waist thickened with children, but to Ranmura she never looked less lovely than she had the first time he had seen her. Their son, Ran, had inherited her unique colouring but their daughter Aya favoured her father with large black eyes and hair that was violet black.

Ayako sat at her laploom, her fingers deft and true, tracing out the design of the sea-maiden upon the canvas, the ring glinting in her hand. “You look vexed, husband” she said fondly. It never failed to amaze Ranmura that he had been so lucky with the woman that the old king had chosen for him, she was beautiful and wise and he loved her so much. Love was not something one expected in marriage, but he loved his wife dearly.

“The king has decided a husband for Aya.” He said quietly.

Ayako’s brows furrowed for a moment. “She’s barely thirteen.” She said, “Is it to be soon?”

“On her fifteenth birthday,” he told his wife, “to a high ranking lord of Eressea, Lord Crawford.”

Ayako pursed her lips. ”I assumed it would be Lord Takatori’s youngest son, being as they are of an age. The king has been throwing them together since childhood, I assumed it would be for a marriage.”

“It would make my heart lighter if he had chosen young Omi, at least I know the boy. I know nothing of this Crawford other than he has a vast estate on Eressea and is very wealthy.” He sat in the chair facing his wife, her marble white hands were resting on the laploom.

“We should be grateful,” Ayako said, “that he is wealthy, it will make a good match for Inabayama,” her voice was sad however, “but not, maybe, such a good match for Aya.” From the window of her solar she could see the beach and her two children running amok. They were pelting up and down the beach with Omi and a dog that they had found somewhere. They were good children, she thought, Aya was impetuous and charming, where Ran was shy and reserved. They had been raised to know that their wants were secondary to the needs of the kingdom. Aya would understand, she might rant and rave, but she would understand. Eressea was only a week away by sea.

Ran, however, would be desolate without his twin.

(ii)

Ran watched as his sister ran ahead, turning back to look at him with a blinding smile. She was running backwards as the dog ran circles about her heels, her skirt fluttering in the sea breeze as she laughed. “You can’t catch me, Ran,” she shouted back, “you never can,” and impishly the young princess of the Fujimiya family stuck her tongue out at her twin. She knew, however, that Ran never could catch her because he never wanted to. In Inabayama twins were considered blessed above all others, and although he and his sister weren’t identical, or even truly looked alike, Ran knew his sister had the love of the goddess because she was the very best thing in his world.

“Omi,” she called out, the wind was blowing her twin braids around her face and the sun was setting behind her with her skirt whipping about her legs. “I bet you can’t catch me.” And then with a laugh she sprinted off across the sand.

“I will catch you,” Omi shouted back and ran after her leaving Ran a few steps behind. Omi was much younger than them but they always made sure to include him in their games. He was a cherub of a prince with soft blonde hair and large blue eyes. His name was actually Mamoru but no one ever called him that, and he had the questionable virtue of being the third in line for the throne. Ran knew his duty, he would be a captain of the Heaven Guard, he would protect his nation first and his family second, but Aya would always be first in his heart.

She was far ahead, he could catch up with them if he sprinted, he was taller than them both with all his height in his legs. It was then that he saw her, the strange maiden sitting on the rocks where the beach was shadowed by the towers. She sat patiently, staring out to sea, with a brush in her hand as she sang softly under her breath. She turned to him and her mercurial eyes sparkled with mischief. She was small, but perfectly formed, and wore a long dress of dark rich green. Ran thought he knew everyone in the court, but he had never seen her before, and it was unlike the women of Inabayama to dress their hair in public, even his mother never left her bedchamber before her hair was braided and covered with a veil. The woman’s dress was open almost completely to show her bosom, which Ran thought was mildly disturbing because decent women didn’t dress like that.  
She stood up, her legs were tiny but perfectly formed and visible through the slit green lace of her gown, as she tucked her comb into a band around her thigh and walked up to him. Ran was transfixed. She was beautiful, but petite, standing shorter, even than Omi, but it was clear she was a full-grown woman, but she had the scent of brine about her. Everything about her reminded Ran of the sea.

She reached out and laid her palm on his face, it was cold and wet to the touch, and smiled a little wanly, she mouthed something but Ran could not understand her, then with a feather light kiss on his forehead she turned and walked away.

“Wait,” he called after her, not exactly sure why. “Who are you?”

Her smile was sweetly sad as she walked down to the water’s edge away from him.

It was only later, when everything had come to a head, he realised what she was.

(iii)

“Mama,” Ran said, “tell me the story of the Piskies.” He was sat on the edge of the bed that he shared with his sister, Aya had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Ran was sleepless. His mother reached down and swept back his hair, it was the same cherry red as her own. 

She sat beside him, wrapping her arms about her son. Their nurse might have the day to day raising of the children, but Ayako made sure to see them safe in their bed, it was Ayako who gave them the warm milk that filled their bellies, and it was Ayako who lulled them to sleep. “Alright, little man,” she said as he lay down on the bed, “in the high places among the mountains and the places where the sea bends the world between ours and the world of the piskies is thin and easily broken.” She looked at her pale and lovely son, lying on the pillows; he was still young enough to crowd him unto her lap and affectionate enough that he never protested that he was a big boy and refused. At six years old Ran knew his destiny and accepted it, he would be his sister’s knight, her champion, and rather than resent her for it, it made him love her all the more. Ayako was proud of her little knight, even on nights when he was sleepless. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “the veil between the worlds is so thin and we can see into their world and they can see into ours and that’s when we see the piskies, beautiful maidens with hair the colour of seaweed. They sit in the shadows, in the dark places singing as they brush out their hair. It is very rare to see one, very few people do, but it is said that if you see them you can tell the future.” She leant down and kissed her son’s forehead, “one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a death and four for a birth, five for silver and six for gold, seven for a heart that’s lost to the cold, eight for heaven and nine for hell, and ten for a secret you never can tell.”

“I want to see a piskie, Mama,” Ran said softly.

“Not one, little man, but two, never wish to see only one, promise me, you’ll wish for two.”

Ran smiled up at her from his pillow. “I promise, Mama, I wish to see two.”

Ayako beamed at her son never knowing his wish would come true.

(iv)

Ran was isolated from the rest of his family as the chiurgeons entered and left his sister’s bedchamber. His parents were both with her but Ran was alone outside. Omi had tried to sit with him for a while but Ran’s silence had scared him, at nine years old Omi simply could not comprehend what was happening. “Is she going to die?” he had asked.  
Ran didn’t have an answer for him. All he could think of was the beautiful woman on the beach and the strange words she had mouthed to him, words he didn’t understand. No one else had seen her, and the beach was part of the private estate of the Fujimiya family, there was no way she could have been there, and within a week his sister had fallen ill. His mother had repeated the refrain again and again through their childhoods, “one for sorrow,” and you must never wish only for one. As a child he had obeyed his mother and wished for two.

He had only seen one.

Now Aya was sick. He couldn’t help but feel it was his fault. He had been the one to see the piskie, he hadn’t run to catch up with Omi and Aya, and now Aya was sick.

His father came out and his expression was tired. “Papa,” Ran said standing up from the bench. “How is she?”

Ranmura Fujimiya shook his head slowly at his only son. “Come, Ran,” he said, “we must talk to the king.”

The king of Inabayama scared Ran, he always had. He stood behind his father and wished he could be anywhere else, he wanted to be with Aya. She was his twin, his other half, she shouldn’t have to be alone. She was ill and she was going through it alone. “You do realise,” the king said, “that this leaves us with a dilemma. Lord Crawford has responded and agreed to the marriage, we have a contract with Eressea and to break it will have serious repercussions for Inabyama.”

Ran wanted to rage at the king, his sister was ill, possibly dying and all the king cared about was the marriage contract that he had agreed with some foreign lord. 

“Perhaps,” his father said, “He might take Ran in Aya’s place.” His voice was quiet. “Lord Crawford is said to like men as much as women, we could still honour the contract.”

“But papa.” Ran protested, then stopped remembering his place, “I will do what is best for Inabayama,” He said stiffly, lowering his eyes to the tiled floor.

“I can always rely on the Fujimiya,” the king said. “The marriage contract specifically names the Fujimiya heir, and in my opinion Ran was always the fairer of the two. If Aya is unable to complete the contract then Ran you will have to take her place. Do you understand what this means?” Ran looked at the king, “you will abandon your training as a knight of the Heaven Guard and you will learn the arts of pleasing a man such as Aya would have learned.”

“I will do what is best for Inabayama.” Ran repeated but his mind was whirligigging. He was going to have to leave Inabayama, to be married to a man he had only ever heard word of in hushed whispers. Even Aya, who shared everything with him, had told him nothing of the man other than he was to marry her.

“I will assign to you a member of the Heaven Guard to keep you safe for your upcoming nuptials.” The king said, “because of the circumstances surrounding this contract we will take no more chances, Ran, you are to take the next ship to Eressea to meet your upcoming husband. Lord Crawford himself suggested this for your sister and I now regret resisting the offer, you are to stay with him until you are of age to marry and then you will do your duty to Inabayama.”

Ran nodded, the words seeming alien in his mind. He clung to the words he recognised, words that were practically his family motto, words the entire kingdom took for granted “the Fujimiya do their duty by Inabayama.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ran watched Inabayama creep away from him from the stern of the boat. The capital of the kingdom was a pincushion of towers, they called them the endless towers, built to honour the goddess who had loved Inabayama as her home. Ran loved them too. He was leaving everything behind.

The previous week had been a terrifying rush of servants and noise, between the chiurgeons tending on his sister as she slipped slowly away from him, to those packing his meagre belongings for the journey to Eressea. 

Only the previous night had he met his champion, where he was to have been his sister’s. The man was tall and golden, with a wicked grin and a smile that encompassed everyone he met. He stood beside Ran, head and shoulders taller than him, with a belt full of weapons. His partner was at the other end of the boat, making friends with the captain. He, too, was tall and thin with a shock of ginger hair and wry green eyes. Unlike his champion, Yohji Kudoh, the man had travelled from Inabayama with some secret past and would only give his name as Schuldig. He ruffled Ran’s red hair and called him “Kirsche” which he said wasn’t an insult.

Despite himself, because the two men were completely unlike anyone he had ever known before, Ran liked the two of them. Yohji had an easy charm and seemed to make everyone fall under his spell, he had flirted with both of Ran’s parents with the same wicked smile as Schuldig rolled his eyes, where he obviously expected it. Yohji never seemed to carry through with his flirts though.

When asked Schuldig said that he had known Crawford before. But that was all that he would say.

Inabayama was slowly creeping away from him. Ran was leaving everything he knew behind, his parents, his home, his sister. He was taking her husband, her duty, her life. Omi had come with them as a court representative with Manx, his guardian, but he was still very young and Manx had put him to bed, Yohji had spent the best part of the journey flirting with her. It just seemed to vex her. She didn’t react though other than gritting her teeth a little tighter. He wasn’t even sure that Yohji noticed.

“Cheer up, kiddo.” Yohji said, “it’s a brave new world out there and it’s not so bad to leave home.” 

“Hn,” Ran told him, wanting to acknowledge him but not sure what to say. He had the impression if he did speak he’d burst out crying. He didn’t want to leave Inabayama, he didn’t want to leave the towers or the beach or his home. He didn’t want to leave his parents to marry a man he knew nothing about. He didn’t want to live his sister’s life for her. He wanted her to live her own life and to live in her shadow. Aya was the brave one, Aya was first born, she was the first one to speak, she was the heir, not him.

But Aya was sick, possibly dying and there was nothing that Ran could do.

“Eressea is a happening island, they have festivals and parties and there’s lots of mischief a lad can get himself into.”

“Hn,” Ran answered, he didn’t know what else to say.

“Lord Crawford’s not that much of a stick in the mud, you know.” Yohji told him, Ran turned to look at him, it was the first time anyone had told him about his future husband.

“You know him?” He asked.

“Not to talk to, but by reputation, yeah, he’s a good man, a bit stern, lost his first wife in childbirth years ago, has a son, much younger than you, mind, little more than a baby, younger than the prince at any rate. He seems like he has a stick up his ass but he cares about his people.” Ran frowned. “He is a good man, underneath it all, he just seems cold.”  
“Are you saying these things to make it easier for me?” Ran asked, “Because regardless, I will do my duty by Inabayama.”

That caused Yohji to frown, “there’s a difference, kid, between doing your duty because you have to and making yourself suffer for it. Crawford’s not that bad, there are much worse that the king could have done for you.” 

“I know.” Ran said lowering his eyes to stare at the water churned up by the boat’s wake. “I,” he stopped.

“In your place,” Yohji confided, “I’d be shitting myself, taken away from everything and everyone I know, sent to an island I’ve never been to with no idea if I’ll ever come back and married to a man I’ve never met who has every right to abuse me any way he likes.”

Ran was silent for a few moments. “I will do my duty as Fujimiya, I will do my duty by Inabayama.” He wanted to cry out, to do something to resist this destiny but he couldn’t think of anything. If he dived into the sea then Yohji would dive in afterwards.

“Just remember, kiddo,” Yohji said softly, “duty can’t keep you warm at night the way a kind lover can.” He touched Ran’s cheek. “Crawford’s a good man, underneath all the bluster and pride, and he’ll make a home for you in Eressea, if you’ll let him. It takes two people to make a marriage work, even one for duty.” Then his grin became wolfish, “and there’s a lot of fun to be had, even if it is for duty.”

Ran blushed before he turned his attention back to the choppy waters and the slowly disappearing towers of Inabayama.

(ii)

Crawford looked at himself in the mirror again, then brushed his hair another way. It was not like him to be so nervous, but it was not everyday one met his new spouse. He had been surprised when the letter came by pigeon telling him of Aya Fujimiya’s terrible illness and the breach of the marriage contract that Inabayama could not avoid. Then less than half a day later the king of Inabayama offered Aya’s brother, Ran, in her place.

Crawford wasn’t sure if he should be flattered by the offer, or offended. But the letter told him that the boy would be on his way long before a response made it’s way to the king. Inabayama was honouring the marriage contract; and so would he.

Hopefully the boy would not be some spoiled effete creature with little to no wit. His last wife had been an idiot, but she had borne him a son, a boy with his mother’s bright blue eyes but his father’s unmistakeable scowl. Crawford had done his duty once by Eressea, he hoped this time there might be some pleasure in it. If not the boy, and according to his sources he was only a child, two years away from being able to legally marry, would find Eressea a cold and lonely place indeed.

Still he was nervous. He wanted to convey a good impression on the boy. Rumour had him as a cold and calculating general, one who had abandoned his beautiful wife in favour of prolonged sieges. HE wondered if he would do this to the boy, whether, all things considered, the battlefield would be more of a home to him than the place where his husband, he wondered for a moment if that was the right word, lived.

“Papa,” Naoe said from the door. The boy was growing up tall and slender, though his face was still round with puppy fat and his eyes were large and very, very blue. “You look very handsome.” The boy was quiet, with awkward displays of real affection but he was sparing with his words. He spent a lot of time thinking and took real joy in books. 

Something his father had done at his age. “Is it for him?” he managed to say him with real venom.

“A little.” Crawford conceded, looking at his son, “a little for me, a little so that you’ll be proud of your Papa, and a lot for the court.” Naoe was still in his sleeping pants and a long white smock, “shouldn’t you get dressed to meet him too?”

“I don’t want to.” The boy snapped, “he’s not my papa and I don’t want him to take you away.”

“He can’t do that, Naoe.” Crawford said squatting down for his son to embrace him. “I’d never let anyone come between us, you know that. You are my world, not him, but you never know, you might be friends, if you try.” He hugged the boy tight, feeling how small his son felt in his arms as the boy clung to him.

“Don’t wanna.” Naoe protested. “I’ll go get dressed now, papa.” He said reaching up and giving Crawford a quick kiss on his cheek, “love you.”

“And I love you too, more and more each day.” 

The boy looked back at him from the door, and his look was nervous. “Don’t let him take you away from me, Papa.” He said, “you’re my papa, not his.”

Crawford smiled at the boy’s jealousy. “Nothing will ever come between us, Naoe, I promise you that, not even this boy, but perhaps, we might all be able to live together.” Naoe frowned before he left, his nurse stood in the doorway with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, Naoe was jealous and there was little anyone other than Ran could do about it.

(iii)

Ran adjusted his jacket for the hundredth time and brushed his hair away from his eyes. Yohji smiled at him indulgently, “it’s normal to be nervous, you know.” He said. “But you look great.”

Ran let out a sigh and made sure his hair was sat nicely. He wanted to make a good impression, after all he was going to marry the man, and he didn’t want to offend him. He was wearing the clothes his mother had specifically packed for this occasion, with the house colours on his jacket and soft black suede boots and trousers.

He felt very young and very nervous. Yohji’s easy camaraderie was not making it any easier on him.

“It’ll be alright,” Yohji assured him.

“So true, Kirsch,” Schuldig said softly, “Crawford is a good man, he won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.” The yet was silent but hung heavy in the air. In the week long journey the two of them had been almost suspiciously vague about Ran’s future husband, but Ran had gathered, more from what they didn’t say than what they did, that Crawford was older than him by at least ten years, which to a boy of thirteen was impossibly old, and that he had been a soldier. Both Schuldig and Yohji had done their very utmost to make Ran comfortable with the wedding, and in turn made him feel very adult. They had even included him on some risqué jokes that in truth he hadn’t got. In their company Ran felt like a man for the first time in his life. Although he was painfully shy, Aya had always been the brave one between them, Ran had been more than content to dwell in her shadow, but she wasn’t there for him to hide behind any more.

Crawford was said to be a strong man, stern but kind in his way, perhaps, Ran thought, I can hide in his shadow.

(iv)

Ran was three steps behind Yohji, he was careful of the distance between them, he decided if he got any closer then he would be seen to be clinging and if he got any further away he might give in to the urge to bolt.

There was a small and intimate supper laid out for the five of them, Manx sat alone carefully watching the room for sign of attack against the young prince, although Omi was so far down the line of succession no one ever tried. Yohji and Schuldig were careful to sit either side of their young charge, although Ran suspected it was more to keep him in place than to protect him, and as he sat down, Ran, for the first time, saw the man his king wanted him to marry.

He was much taller than Ran, maybe the same height as Yohji, but definitely taller than Schuldig and Manx, and his hair was black but worn short, Ran’s own had been cut before they left Inabayama and only had lengths in two tails on either side of his face. He was handsome; Ran admitted to himself, if one liked that sort of thing. He was older than Ran, but not as old as Ran had imagined him – a vision of a hunched back old man with little to no grey hair or teeth vanished to be replaced by strong crisp lines of forehead and jaw, and a pair of inquisitive amber eyes. “You must be Ran,” he said and his voice was strong and capable. Ran didn’t know what to say to that but he did raise his eyes to meet the almost predatory gaze of the man who would be his husband, “I must say that you are not quite what I expected.”  
Ran didn’t know how to react so his pride reacted for him, he was a Fujimiya, he was descended from gods, he wouldn’t cower like a child in front of this man, even if he had no idea what Crawford was capable of, and his mind was suggesting all sorts of things he might be capable of. “I am what I am,” Ran said softly, his voice wavering between a deep rich baritone and a boyish soprano, “I cannot be other than that.”

Crawford smiled at that. “I will not have much time to spend with you for the next few weeks.” He said firmly, “my business at court will keep me occupied, nevertheless I will do my best to see you, if only for a few minutes, each day, and assure you that you have full run of my manor. There is a large library that you may find interesting and stables. Everything I have is yours.” He lowered his head.”

“Your lordship is too kind.” Ran said but didn’t lower his eyes.

“Call me Crawford,” he said, “I hope that we can get along, Ran, and not just for the sake of our countries.”

“I would be honoured, your,” he stopped himself, “Crawford.”


	3. Chapter 3

(i)

Eressea was a city built for war, and at the edge of the city, overlooking lush and verdant fields of wheat and livestock was the manor house of Lord Crawford. It was well appointed and richly decorated but Ran missed the smell of the sea and the sound of the storms, which had surrounded his bedchamber in Inabayama. He missed waking up to the bells tolling out the dawn and when he did wake, in the wide soft bed, he spent a few moments trying to work out where he was and feeling slightly guilty because he had obviously slept well past dawn without the bells to wake him. He climbed from the bed, tugging back the curtains with a yawn to find both Yohji and Schuldig waiting for him.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Yohji said with a smile, “how are you feeling?”

There was a glut of answers, Ran thought, to that question, terrified, nervous, slightly nauseous, homesick and a little excited. Ran answered him with a yawn causing Schuldig to laugh. “Too right,” he said, “actions speak louder than words, go back to bed if you’re still tired, no one’s going to mind.”

“I will.” Ran said, a little stiffly, “it must be late.”

“Barely seven of the clock.” Schuldig answered, “in fact, Yotan and I are yet to even go to bed.” He was drinking wine from a metal cup. In Inabayama all the cups were made of glass. It struck Ran with another wave of homesickness.

“Now look,” Yohji said with a smile as he laid his cards down on the table, “you’ve confused him, come and have a drink, Ran,” he said offering him his own wine cup.

“It’s not that,” Ran said, a little hesitantly, ”and thank you, but no.” He ran his fingers through his hair before he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.” He felt like he could tell these two anything, they were here for him, not for Crawford. They had come with him from Inabayama, they would always be with him, and maybe rather than just being his champions they might be his friends.

He had never had friends other than Aya and Omi before, and he liked the idea of it.

“Oh and Crawford’s manservant dropped this off for you last night, but you were already asleep.” Yohji said, lifting a piece of paper as he stood up, carrying it to the boy. “We,” he flicked his eyes to Schuldig, “didn’t break the seal if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

Ran took the letter, wondering which one of them had been the one to suggest breaking the seal. He knew that they had obviously fought over it; the entire room seemed to reek of the idea.

With his thumbnail he broke open the seal and read the letter.

“Ran,  
I will be out of the manor for most of the day tomorrow, but nonetheless I am hoping that you could join me in a late supper at ten of the clock.  
I would remind you that you are free to make this manor your home and treat it as you would your own. Just as we will when you come of age we share everything in this place. What is mine is yours.  
I must say that you were far more than I expected. I received, as part of the marriage contract, a miniature of your sister so when I heard that you were her twin I imagined that you would look like her. You do not, and for that I am glad, because it means that I will never think of you as her replacement, even in unguarded moments. You are Ran, and I would have you know that.  
I am reliably informed that Portia, my prize bitch, has whelped in the last few days, although her pups are too small right now, perhaps you would like to take one of them as your own.  
Hoping to see you tonight,  
Crawford.”

“So,” Schuldig said leaning over him to read the note, “what does it say?”

“He’s inviting me to supper.” Ran said quietly, “and that his dog has puppies and when they’re old enough I can have one.” Schuldig gave a low whistle of appreciation. 

“Good for you, kiddo.” Yohji said, “at least he’s not starting wars to avoid you like he did with the last wife, eh?”

Ran couldn’t think of an answer for that so he said nothing.

(ii)

It was long past dark when Ran met Crawford for a late, and in his opinion, rather intimate supper. He had expected that it would be like it had the night before where his entire entourage, being five people, would be invited.

It was just him and Crawford.

He ate the stew in silence, staring down at his plate for long moments before Crawford laughed. “Schuldig said that I was not to think you standoffish, that you were shy.” He said in his rich deep voice. “All in all, I find it quite charming.”

Ran blushed bright red up to the roots of his hair, keeping his eyes on the table. “You’re a very handsome young man, Ran,” Crawford said, “and I think I like making you blush, does that make me cruel?”

“No, sir.” Ran answered.

“I thought I told you to call me Crawford.” Crawford said reaching up to lift the bottle of spirits on the table, “would you like some brandy, Ran?” 

He poured some into the cup before Ran had a chance to answer. “Thank you,” he paused, “Crawford,” he was careful to say the name instead of his instinctive reaction to say Sir or my lord.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Crawford said as Ran carefully sipped the brandy. It was different from the liqueurs his father drank but it still burned like fire on the way down. “Now how are you finding Eressea?”

“It is lovely, but I miss the sea.” Ran said, “I am a little overwhelmed by it all.” He answered, honestly. He didn’t know what Crawford wanted to hear. “I simply don’t know what to do with myself. I spent the day exploring the manor.”

“Feel free to wander about the town.” Crawford said, “but make sure you take someone with you, I imagine that Eressea is not as safe as your family estates. I am informed that you like to read, is this so?” Ran nodded. “There is a rather fine bookshop on Potter Street. I shall set you up an account there. As I said in my note, what is mine is yours.”

“You don’t need to.” Ran protested.

“I know,” Crawford said with a faint smile, “but I want to.”

“You are too kind,” Ran said, “in truth, it makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Crawford’s smile was soft and genuine, “if you were your sister I would say that you will be lady of this house, that all of this will be yours, but despite the marriage contract between our families I’m not quite sure how it works. I am as uncomfortable in this situation as you yourself, you know.”

“My father said you were a lover of men, as much as women.” Ran blurted out and then realized what he said, and lowered his eyes, “and Yohji said you were married before.”

“I was,” Crawford said, sitting back, willing to answer the boy’s questions. “I married a woman as my lord determined and she bore me a son, and died in childhood, and Naoe is the only thing she ever did to recommend her. She was wilful and proud and I didn’t care for her, but I was young and although I might be considered embittered by such an experience I would do what I could to prevent it being repeated.” He swirled the brandy around in his cup, “I would, at least, Ran, have us be friends.”

Ran offered him a nervous smile, “I’d like that.” He said quietly. “Thank you.” 

Crawford took note of the smile and smiled himself, the boy was young and naive, but he was indeed lovely.

(iii)

Ran called his puppy Hoshi because of the star on his forehead, his mother had been a large wolfhound who had appraised the boy before her with a cold and rather calculating gaze and then pointed him towards the runt of the litter, a small bundle of fluff with a bright white blazon on his chest. Ran had respected her choice even when Crawford offered him a larger bitch for his own. “No,” he said, cradling the puppy against his chest, “I want this one.” The puppy was barely as large as his hand.

“Are you sure?” Crawford asked, Naoe was at his side scowling at Ran. 

“Yes,” Ran said looking at the small grey ball of fur in his hands, “I want this one. Which one do you want, Naoe?” He said looking at the boy who scowled more.

“He’s not having one,” Crawford said a little stiffly, “he doesn’t get along with animals.”

Ran crouched in front of the boy who narrowed his eyes at him, “maybe we could learn how to look after them together.” He said softly. He had no idea why the child loathed him the way that he did, he had barely spent any time with the child, even when he attempted otherwise.

“Can I see?” Omi chirruped from his side, Ran showed him the tiny puppy and Omi crowded in. “He’s so cute, I wish I could have one, but Masafumi doesn’t like animals so I can’t.”

“What if we all share?” Ran offered, looking at both boys. Naoe harrumphed an answer but Omi just beamed at him.

 

Later, as they shared supper alone, something Crawford made sure to do every night with the young boy, Crawford commended it on him. “It was a good thing you did today, with Naoe.”

“I just want him to like me.” Ran said.

“He’s just jealous and thinks you’re going to take me away from him.” Crawford said quietly.

“But I’m not.” Ran protested, “I just want to be friends with him.”

“He’s just as shy as you are.” Crawford said quietly, “but he seems to be getting on with the young prince.” He seemed amused by the whole affair.

“I don’t think anyone can resist Omi for long.” Ran said with a small laugh to himself, “he’s like a force of nature, he’s so chipper.”

Crawford’s smile was warm, but calculating, “I had noticed. I’m glad you’re trying, even if Naoe is being a brat about this.”

“I don’t know how I would feel,” Ran said, breaking a piece of bread with his hands, “if someone came between me and my parents, I would resent them too.” He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I think it might be easier for him if I was older, then he might not see me as so much of a challenge for your affections.”

“You’re very wise for someone so young.” Crawford said, he was obviously weighing Ran up in his mind.

“I just,” he stopped, “I think a lot, and I wanted Naoe to like me.” He wondered if there wasn’t a little bit of a whine to his voice, “because if Naoe liked me, then,” he lowered his eyes to the table and blushed bright red, “maybe you’d like me too.”

Crawford’s laugh was warm and seemed to touch Ran all over. “I do like you,” he said, “I like you a lot.” Ran seemed to blush even brighter under his hair, he had found a way to stare at the table so Crawford could only see him through his fringe.

As far as these things went, it wasn’t a bad beginning.

(iv)

Over the weeks that followed Crawford found himself, almost despite his own best intentions, making time to spend with the boy. Every morning he would have breakfast with Naoe, and every evening a late supper with Ran. He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more. Ran was reticent and shy but small warm smiles and brilliant blushes could be coaxed from him with ease, where Naoe scowled and practised his complaints on his unlistening father.

Ran was shy, but he was kind and although his attempts to befriend Naoe were failing it meant a lot to Crawford that he even tried, and he tried because he wanted to be Naoe’s friend, not because he wanted to bed Naoe’s father. Others had tried before. As it was Ran wouldn’t have had to.

From the instant he had seen him, sitting between the two members of the Heaven Guard, shy and nervous with eyes the colour of clouds at twilight and his bright red hair Crawford had been smitten. When he had seen the miniature of the girl Aya he had looked at it and conceded that the girl was pretty, and had been genuinely sorry to hear of her illness. When they suggested taking the brother in her place Crawford’s mind had created a male image of the girl in the portrait, Ran was nothing like his sister. Though he was still gangly with youth, and his voice hovered between manhood and childhood, Ran was already beautiful, and as a man he would only grow more so. 

Crawford wondered if the king of Inabayama had chosen him to take his sister’s place for that exact reason.

What was more surprising, Crawford thought, as he watched the boy cavort with the puppy in the small courtyard, was that Ran was, though he himself would deny it, brilliant. He had a mind as sharp as Crawford’s own, although he was so modest it was hard to wrangle any opinions from him.

Crawford had found himself sat in his office for the Lord of Eressea picturing those late night conversations with the boy. He had even dared to imagine the texture of his skin beneath the ugly sweaters that the boy wore, after the boy was his.

He suspected that he could summon Ran now and he would go joyously to his bed.

It wasn’t right though, Crawford thought, to take advantage of the boy’s youth and inexperience. He would woo him, he would seduce him, he would love him, but he would bed him.

Ran looked up at him in the window and gave him that brilliant and rather innocent smile, and Crawford felt his trousers tighten in response even as he waved at the boy. Oh, yes, he thought, the king of Inabayama had chosen well sending Ran in his sister’s place.

He would seduce the boy, but he would make sure that Ran was grateful, that there was no force applied, that Ran would only ever know pleasure from his hand, because although he could be cruel, for Ran he would be kind.


	4. Chapter 4

(i)

Ran sat on the couch, that Crawford had bought for him, in the library as he opened the gift. When he saw the title of the book he jumped up and wrapped his arms about Crawford and kissed him on the cheek. Then he blushed as bright red as his hair as he realised what he had done.

Across the library, his champion, Yohji snickered but said nothing. Crawford wasn’t sure if he was laughing at the impromptu show of gratitude or the boy’s reaction to it. 

Crawford was secretly pleased, part of him wanted to grab Ran and to show him how to kiss him properly, but the other half didn’t want to offend the boy in any way. He was very young. “I’ve wanted this book it seems like forever,” Ran enthused, “Omi and I have been reading the entire series, I’m sorry, I got a little overexcited.”

Crawford just gave a soft and almost silent laugh, “it’s no problem, I noticed you didn’t have this one so I sent my secretary to get it for you. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Ran said offering him one of his very innocent and sweet smiles, “I like it very much.” 

“I’m glad.” Crawford said and he meant it, he would have paid a thousand king’s ransoms for one of the boy’s genuine smiles. “But now I have to wonder is Omi going to kiss me too?”

Yohji snorted out a laugh at the image. “You’d have to get through Manx first, and believe me, you’d need an entire armed guard to manage that.”

“I don’t think Manx likes you much, Yotan,” Ran said teasing his champion. Wherever Ran was Yohji was not far behind. Crawford was glad, it meant his precious innocent Ran stayed innocent, even in the presence of such a notorious seducer. Yohji seemed to look on the boy as a younger brother who should be protected from all the evils of the world, and although he shared some jokes with him Crawford knew that they had been censored for his ears.

He liked the idea that all Ran would learn of love he would learn from him. The boy’s naiveté was charming and Crawford wouldn’t take it from him for the very world.

“I get the impression,” Yohji said leaning in like a conspirator, “that Manx doesn’t like people much.”

Ran’s instant peal of laughter rang around the room and Crawford smiled despite himself. He wondered what great act had earned him this reward, this perfect, beautiful, innocent boy; part of him even considered if a thank you note to the King of Inabayama was necessary because he had received a great gift indeed.

He was slowly, very slowly, coming out of the shell his shyness kept him in. He was getting bolder, slowly but improving every day. He still backed down from Naoe’s demands and tantrums but he was answering Crawford. He was even ranging out on his horse, a placid mare that Crawford had bought for him specially, even though he denied it because Ran didn’t like receiving expensive gifts. Crawford would have given him the world if he would have accepted it, he would have pulled the moon down from the sky for one of those innocent and dazzling smiles.

He wondered if soon Ran would be making sly, and rather innocent, asides with Yohji who he called Yotan and he called Schuldig Schu even though Schuldig protested, a little too much to really hate it in Crawford’s opinion. He had even, sidling up to Schuldig with a rather wicked expression, which in Crawford’s eyes was just adorable, called him Schu-Schu just to watch him splutter on the mouthful of wine he had just swallowed. He even got the idea that he had timed it for that reason.

Ran offered him a second smile, and then bit his bottom lip with perfect white teeth. “Thank you for the book,” he said and then began gnawing his lip a little more, “it has illustrations, would you like to see?” And then Ran was beside him with the book open and Crawford could smell the herbal scent of his shampoo and feel the heat of his body against him. He had to force himself to remember that although he was to marry Ran it wasn’t for eighteen months yet.

He suspected the boy had no idea just how lovely he truly was. “See,” Ran said pointing to one of the illustrations, it was of a man in heavily spiked black armour, “this is the Nemesis who is laying siege to the West, and this,” he turned the page to show a knight in rather scanty armour, “this is the great knight Alaric who has been forced by wicked sorcerers to serve the Nemesis, and this,” the next picture was of a tall and willowy maiden, “is Celabrien and Alaric loves her but can’t go to her until someone defeats the Nemesis in his terrible advance.”

Crawford began to regret buying the boy the book. The Hordes of the Nemesis and the armies of Estet were slowly swallowing the outlying kingdoms one by one and Ran was reading a rather ridiculous set of romances about them. Crawford himself had met the Hordes of the Nemesis on the field of battle and had been impressed by their prowess; he had only won that day by a slim margin. 

“And Alaric is forced to bring beautiful things to the Nemesis, because it’s the only thing that appeases his terrible hunger for human souls, and he is fighting to protect Celabrien from him, because she’s the most beautiful girl in the world.” Ran was animated as he talked about the book. “I used to pretend, with Aya, that I was Alaric and she was Celabrien and that I had to protect her from Masafumi, who was the Nemesis, though we never told him.”

Yohji spluttered out a laugh at the boy’s description. “I like that one,” he said with a laugh, “personally I’m not sure he’s not worse than the Nemesis.”

“Who is the Nemesis?” Ran asked suddenly, “I only know about him from these books and I know they change him to make him worse than he is.”

“Nobody knows,” Crawford said softly, “all we know is that he collects beautiful things and his armies devastate and conquer.” He put his hand on Ran’s shoulder in a placating manner, “but Eressea is a long way from his reach, you have nothing to fear from him.”

“You might have to go to war to face him.” Ran said sadly.

“Then I’ll take you with me.” Crawford said firmly. “I’ll never let you fear for the Nemesis or his hordes.”

(ii)

Ran crept down the corridors of the manor house as silent as an assassin on his plan. He stopped outside the double door and nodded to the guard there. She nodded and let him pass. He opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped inside and towards the huge curtained bed. He tugged back the covers to reveal the inhabitants.

His initial shock was quickly replaced by a warm smile as he reached out to the shoulder next to him, “Naoe,” he said softly, “Naoe,” he repeated. The figure came to wakefulness slowly, “Naoe, wake up.” Naoe looked at him sleepily, as he reached across him, “Omi,” he said in the soft tone, “Omi,” he repeated as the blonde boy woke up, “come see,” he held out his hand as he led them to the window, opening the shutters and then the window. “It’s snowing.” 

And it was, the snow was falling in soft white feathers. “It does that,” Naoe whined, pulling his blanket tighter about his shoulders, “it’s winter.”

Omi understood. “The first snow of winter is precious.” He said staring up at the indigo sky, “wishes made in it come true.” Although like Naoe he had a blanket pulled tight about his shoulders he used his free hand to catch one of the falling snowflakes. “It hardly ever snowed in Inabayama.” He said, “and I never got to see the first snows.” Then with a winning grin he threw his arms around Ran and hugged him tight, his blanket falling down.

“This doesn’t make us friends.” Naoe said stiffly, almost embarrassed by his friend’s overt display of affection.

“I know,” Ran said quietly, “but it’s no fun sharing the snow on your own.” 

(iii)

Every day Ran wrote to his sister to be sent on the weekly ship to Inabayama. He wrote his parents long rambling letters but his secrets he saved for Aya. He told her of his nightly suppers with Crawford, of his uphill battle to make friends with Naoe, although he confided in her that she would have had no trouble there because everyone loved Aya, and how Omi had befriended the boy almost against Naoe’s better judgement. He told Aya how the two of them pretty much went everywhere hand in hand with Manx trailing behind them like a mothering shadow.

He told Aya about Crawford, about how handsome he was, and how kind. He told her that Crawford had bought him this, or had the cooks make him that. He told her about the lingering smell of his cologne and the cut of his clothes. Then he told her about how he felt sheepish admitting that to her because it made him sound like a girl with a crush.

He told her about Yohji and how being with him almost all the time made him feel very adult. He told her about how easy it was to make him splutter instead of laugh. 

He told her about how fond he was becoming of Eressea but how desperately he missed Inabayama and the sea. He thought he might miss the sea most of all.

That he never got an answer didn’t seem to bother him, for after all Aya was very ill, because if she wasn’t then he wouldn’t be here, in her place. He imagined her, lying in her bed, as their mother read out the letters to her, pretending not to listen as Ran told her of his secrets. He had never hidden anything from Aya and he wouldn’t start now.  
He told her how he missed her on his daily ride with Yohji and Schuldig, because in Inabayama he would have ridden with her. 

That he missed being in her shadow he didn’t tell her.

That he wanted her to get well he stressed in every letter, and sometimes, it felt, every word.

Yet when the mail from the ship came in he waited impatiently for Crawford’s steward to hand him his own bundle of letters, and he would smile at his mother’s and beam at his fathers, and then his heart would break, as there was never a letter from Aya. He repeated the words over and over again, she never responded because she was sick.

As the steward handed him the bundle of letters he ruffled through them and then he must have frowned because Crawford came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, but Ran would have given him anything for that moment of understanding and comfort.

(iv)

At supper that night Ran was despondent. Yohji had wisely decided to sit outside the door rather than waiting for him inside the room, and Crawford could tell that the boy was upset by the way he moved his dinner around his plate and wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Crawford said, pushing away his own plate. “Your sister.” 

Ran met Crawford’s consoling gaze across the table. “I,” he started but the words were gone. It was clear that he swallowed a sob.

Crawford let out a sigh and then stood up, going around the table and wrapping his arms about the boy, “sometimes we’re all so grown up,” he said, “that we forget it’s fine to be weak sometimes.” Ran looked up at him from the pillow of the broad chest he leant against, Crawford could see the line of shimmering tears welling in the boy’s beautiful violet eyes, “Just let it out.”

That was all the permission Ran needed, he started to cry, thick roaring sobs that seemed to rough for his throat, his fingers twisted in the fabric of Crawford’s shirt as he clutched to him to let out the rage and pain and frustration he felt. 

Crawford just tightened his arms about him and let him cry.

When he was done Ran looked a little sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though his voice was still thick with tears.

“Don’t be,” Crawford told him, “I’m glad you trusted me enough to share this with me.”

“Now, I’m all ugly.” Crawford chuckled at Ran’s response. “my eyes are all puffy and my cheeks are all sticky and I’m probably really snotty.” Crawford wiped Ran’s cheek with his palm, even as his other hand remained between the boy’s shoulder blades. He leant in then, smelling the boy’s lemon and soap freshness, and pressed a kiss upon the pouting lips.

“You’re never going to be ugly.” Crawford said honestly, “you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, I don’t ever want you to think that you’re ugly.” The boy’s vanilla sweetness was still on his lips, the hint of the herbs from the stew. “I’m going to kiss you now, Ran, if you don’t want me to, you only have to say.”

Ran blushed as bright as his hair even as his fingers tangled even tighter in the fabric of Crawford’s shirt. He lowered his head but let Crawford slowly, softly, raise his jaw with his fingertips and with his eyes closed he sighed into the kiss that Crawford gave him.

The boy was unskilled and nervous and Crawford could feel the manic thump of Ran’s heart against his chest as his long white fingers pulled at his shirt trying to pull Crawford closer.

The kiss was innocent and rather naïve, Crawford merely pulled his lips over the boy’s, but it was rewarding none the less when he pulled back and saw Ran’s eyes closed and his lips still pursed, reaching out for him. Crawford, for a brief moment, considered all the reasons he shouldn’t kiss the boy again, and decided they were irrelevant, the boy, whatever else he was, was his, and because he had never been good at self denial he kissed him again.


	5. Chapter 5

(i)

Despite Naoe’s best attempts to the contrary Ran was relentless in making the boy his friend. In fact Naoe spent several long hours complaining to his father about Ran whilst Crawford fought to remain straight faced in the face of his son’s ire. He was overwhelmed in the face of it, everyone who surrounded him adored Ran and his scowls, which had been great at getting his own way before, were now useless in the face of Ran’s innocent smiles and Omi’s bone crushing hugs. Crawford found the whole process adorable because he had despaired of Naoe ever making friends his own age and it seemed that with Omi’s overwhelming energy and Ran’s gentleness that Naoe was coming out of his shell more and more each day.

He wasn’t the only one.

Every day, with every moment of time lavished on him, made Ran glow. 

Crawford found himself, instead of sending out his secretary, going himself for some tiny treat that would make the boy beam at him. He felt like a teenager in love. If his intelligence revealed that Ran was a demon who feasted on children’s souls and was only using him to get to Naoe he would have forgiven him. 

He spent at least an hour each day travelling between bookshops and sweet shops to find some of the candies that Ran liked. He always shared them with the other two boys, but the sweet shy smile was Crawford’s alone.

Since that night Crawford had stolen three kisses.

He wasn’t sure if he should refer to them being stolen as he always asked if he could kiss Ran. There was something so infinitely precious and innocent about the boy the idea of stealing anything, even a kiss, seemed profane. There was an air of holy innocence about the boy. It was said in Inabayama that the Fujimiya were descended from gods. Looking at Ran Crawford believed it. He wondered however if Ran faked what appeared to be a growing attraction for Crawford for after all they were to be married and the Fujimiya always did their duty by Inabayama.

Then he decided that the boy was simply too young to have such guile.

And what did it matter, in the long run, he decided, Ran was his.

He would take him to court soon, he would present him at court soon, he would introduce him to the king and the other lords knowing that Ran would never be at home there like his wife had been, that despite all the promises and lies of court that Ran would be happier in this manor with him.

(ii)

The King of Eressea leant over the maps strewn on the table with his lords about him. “We are fortunate to be so far west,” he said carefully, “as the Nemesis extends his reach from the north and Estet from the east, each is growing steadily larger as you can.” There were lead figurines laid out to represent the armies, although they were far in both cases from Eressea the forces of the Nemesis were close to Inabayama. He noted it with the sensation that he would have to tell Ran and that he didn’t want to. The armies of the Nemesis were relentless and ruthless. “Some arrangement with either one or the other must be made. What do you suggest?”

“We could open trade with the two of them, if we have commodities both of them want then they might not attack us.” One of his lords said quietly.

“Alternately, you majesty has a daughter of marriageable age, perhaps she could be offered to the Nemesis as appeasement. “ Another suggested, “or even to the Elders of Estet.”

“Or we could gather our armies join with those countries that are yet to fall,” The third said, “and fight back.” 

“Or we could bide our time.” Crawford suggested. “Promote alliances with those countries not under either thumb in preparation of any of those options without getting into bed with either of them above the other. It will eventually come down to both of them fighting each other, and truth be told I’d rather not be caught in the middle.”

“More interested in that new boy of yours.” One of them leered, “I suppose if I had someone as pretty as him to warm my bed that I might not be so eager to go off to war.” He was a large and bulky man with a history of violence, both for his nation and against his wives. “I mean, it’s not like you can take him with you. Or maybe we could send him off to the Nemesis and send the princess to Estet.” 

His barking laugh was cut off by Crawford’s hand at his throat. He lifted him several inches clear off the ground. “Don’t speak of him again, don’t even think of him, or I’ll kill you.” He growled the words out, it was more of a threat as Crawford would more than carry through on it.

“Is he really that pretty?” The king asked, “in that case I might just have to meet him, rule of first night and all.” The rule of first night was an antiquated law, which gave the lord of any state the right to the first night of a married woman’s life. On the night she married she could be sent to her lord’s bed instead of her husband’s, and just as surely a lord’s wife could be sent to the king. It hadn’t been enforced, except by pigs like Jaime, in centuries.

Crawford glowered. “The boy is a Fujimiya.” He said trying to calm his temper, “a marriage you yourself commanded, majesty.” There were ways, he knew, to command even the king to back down, “to cement the treaty with Eressea.”

“I suggested a marriage with a girl.” The king corrected him.

“Yes, majesty, but the girl was taken ill and the king of Inabayama suggested her brother in her place. That is the boy at my manor, the one that Sir Jaime seems so keen to send to the Nemesis.”

“Trade with Inabayama is of a premium concern,” one of the other lords suggested, “their steel is invaluable for building as well as making arms. I think it might be politic, majesty, to stock pile weapons, just in case, that way even if we do not go to war against either of the invaders then we could at least sell them arms to destroy each other.”  
“I will think on what you have said.” The king said, “You are all dismissed, and Crawford,” he said to the retreating lord, “due to the proximity of the Nemesis to Inabayama might I suggest moving the wedding forward.”

“The boy’s only fourteen,” Crawford protested.

“That’s of legal age for a girl.” Sir Jaime said with a sour laugh.

“Why?” another of the lords snickered, “is it your intention to hold flowers for the lad at the ceremony before your hair turns silver and falls out?” 

Another took the joke, “perhaps skip down the aisle tossing flower petals?”

“You’ll do anything, won’t you,” the last joked, “to grope the maid’s arses.” 

Crawford said nothing; he was silently jubilant that Ran would be his that much sooner.

(iii)

Ran took the news of his upcoming marriage with particular aplomb. “All right,” he said with a beaming smile, of course Crawford didn’t mention the proximity of the Nemesis’ hordes to Inabayama as the reason for the hurried schedule. The heaven guard might have been some of the greatest warriors in the world but there was no reason to unduly worry him. He worried enough about Inabayama as it was.

Yohji was teasing the boy mercilessly, but never actually explaining anything about the jokes he and Schuldig shared with the boy, so Yohji was not surprised, with a few weeks to the wedding, Ran came to him with questions.

The boy seemed very young, he wore a loose black jerkin and pants where he was riding. “Yotan,” he said very solemnly looking at the floor, which was a good indicator of the boy’s embarrassment. He made a few false starts, “Yotan,” he said, “Schu,” he looked at the redhead and started biting his lip. “I,” he stopped, “I,” the words were gone, “I wanna know how.” He finally shouted.

“How what, kiddo?” Schuldig asked, “how Yotan makes it to bed each night, because that’s a trade secret, or how the gods hold up the sky?”

“No,” Ran protested looking a little put out, “I wanna know how.” He repeated with more emphasis.

“Are we talking about your wedding?” Yohji asked with a bit of a leer. He often leered at the boy but Ran took no interest in him at all. “Or what comes after?”

“After.” Ran mumbled.

“Well,” Schuldig said, “the two of you go off into the mountains for a month, you should know that, kid, you’ve been packing for it for a week.” He was enjoying teasing the boy.

“Not that,” Ran protested, “the other thing.”

Yohji just laughed, “it’s nothing to worry about,” he said, “all you have to do is lie back and think of Inabayama.” 

“The king said,” he blushed bright and glowing, “that I would have instruction, that someone would teach me.”

“Crawford,” Schuldig suggested. Ran ignored him.

“Yes, your tutor showed up with a bag full of instruments.” Yohji snickered, “and got sent back to Inabayama on the first boat out with threats hanging in his ears. Your betrothed didn’t care too much for his manner.”

“Or his bag of giant dildos.” Schuldig snickered.

“What’s a dildo?” Ran asked with wide eyes.

“It’s,” Yohji started.

“A type of book, you know those books,” Schuldig recovered. “The ones that have no redeemable value.”

“The ones the cooks read?” Ran asked. 

Yohji jumped on that opportunity, “Yes,” he said, “those ones.” He thanked whatever god looked over him for the opportunity to avoid the topic. “Look, kiddo, this is really a question you should be asking Crawford.”

“he kissed me.” Ran confided in a low voice, “I didn’t want to tell you because you’re my champion and you’re meant to protect me, but I liked it and he wouldn’t do it again if you killed him, and.” He stopped as he realised that they were laughing at him. “It’s not funny.”

“Kissing.” Yohji said indulgently. ”That’s what comes after, lots and lots of kissing, and I wouldn’t have killed him for kissing you, you know, I might have threatened him a bit, but that’s all.” Ran did a fair impression of Omi as he threw his arms about Yohji and hugged him tight. Then he frowned up at him, “you could have just told me about the kissing you know.”

“Ah you see,” Schuldig said, “just as you were worried he’d kill Crawford, Crawford might kill him.” Ran would never know how true that information actually was.

(iv)

What surprised Ran about his wedding was that it happened with much less fuss than he expected. He had both longed for and dreaded the day in equal measures and when it arrived he was a little disappointed.

In Inabayama there was a great festival when one of the noblesse married, two girls of the bride’s acquaintance would dress up as piskies to wish the bride joy and the bride would be led, veiled, through the town by the Heaven Guard where gifts would be given to her train. Often these were tiny things like ribbons and knitted caps for any children she would have. 

It was a matter of joy for the whole kingdom, children would run ahead of the bride sprinkling her way with flower petal in the summer and holly leaves in the winter. She would wear a crown of the season’s colours in flowers and branches and a veil that dragged on the ground behind her that her mother had worn before her.

Aya would have had that.

Ran didn’t. 

He had a quick and rather light breakfast because his stomach was nauseous with nerves. Then he was taken directly to the chapel where the bishop waited, they said a few words and then Crawford slipped a golden pendant into the hole in his ear that Yohji had pierced two weeks before in preparation. Crawford whispered something to him as he did it but Ran never did make out the words.

Then he was led to a feast that seemed to pass him by in a haze.

He remembered Omi giving him a gift; a snow-globe that had been ordered especially for him as a thank you for something Ran couldn’t remember in all the hustle and fuss that surrounded him.

Then, he was given wine and the evening seemed to pass even quicker and before he knew it, Crawford was leading him by the hand, with the whole court following them it seemed, to his bed. “But I don’t know what to do.” Ran protested.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Crawford said, and then as the court jeered against the closing door, Crawford kissed him.

 

Crawford found Ran’s kisses maddening but he stopped himself, “you wont’ be comfortable sleeping in that.” He said referring to the heavy quilted jacket Ran wore, “let me help you.” His hands, Ran thought, were cold but capable as they stripped him of his jacket. “Nervous?” he asked.

“A little.” Ran conceded looking at the floor.

“Don’t be.” Crawford said, “we don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable, I don’t want you to know anything other than pleasure in this bed.”

“I’m scared.” Ran admitted as Crawford pulled away the shirt as if unwrapping a great prize.

“You don’t need to be, we won’t do anything tonight.” Crawford brushed Ran’s hair back from his face. “You’re very brave, you know.” 

Ran tried to smile for him but it was small and weak. Then he laid his face against Crawford’s chest, “thank you.” He murmured. “For everything.”

If Crawford answered him, Ran didn’t hear it.


	6. Chapter 6

(i)

Ran awoke to Crawford’s gentle fingers tracing the curve of his back. It tickled and at first he tried to wriggle away from the intruding digits but as he quickly ran out of bed he realised that wasn’t going to be an option so he chose the more direct option. He rolled over and faced Crawford on an equal level. “Morning,” he murmured sleepily.

“Morning.” Crawford answered. His amber eyes were predatory and there was a shadow of stubble on his chin. “How did you sleep?”

A thousand answers galloped through Ran’s head, he had slept curled in the hollow of Crawford’s shoulder, nestled against his strong chest, which now in the early daylight he could see had a slight smattering of crisp black hairs. He reached out, carefully, not sure of how much he was allowed, to touch them.

The men of Inabayama had scarce body hair, if any, he himself only had hair on his head and a smattering under his arms and on his groin so it caught him unawares to see so much hair. Crawford’s smile was indulgent. “It’s alright,” he said, “touch me as much as you like.”

Ran blushed clear to the roots of his hair. “I don’t know how.” He said quietly.

“I know,” Crawford told him, “I wanted to be the one to teach you.” He reached out and pushed Ran’s bangs back from his face. “I love your hair,” he said, “would you grow it, for me?” Ran smiled for him because that he could do, that wish it was easy to fulfil.

Ran’s smile was so warm and inviting that Crawford had to kiss it. The boy’s lips were like slices of fruit, soft and warm with a hint of salt from his sweat, as he pulled away to look at the boy’s heavy lidded eyes he couldn’t help but lick the taste of him from his lips. Ran was smiling, a little self-indulgently. “What?” Crawford asked with a smile.

“Yotan said there’d be lots more kissing.” He said, “He was right.”

“What else did Yohji tell you?” Crawford said, twirling one of Ran’s ear tails in his fingers.

“That the king of Inabayama sent someone to teach me but you sent him and his books away, that you wanted to teach me.”

Crawford smiled, “That’s true.” He said, “but what books? He didn’t have books that I saw.”

“Schuldig said he showed up with a bag of dildos, and Yohji said that they were the books that cooks read, you know those books.” Crawford swallowed a laugh; it wouldn’t do to laugh at the boy’s naiveté. The tutor had been a slug of a man with maybe three hairs to his head and a box of porcelain penises with which he would have taught Ran all the pleasures to give a man. The man had been profusely sweating and Crawford got the impression that he got a certain enjoyment out of teaching young girls the arts of the bedroom, something that would have been exacerbated by Ran’s innocence.

The man had been sent back to Inabayama almost before he had disembarked the boat.

Although Crawford might have taken a certain pleasure in having a boy who knew how to please him, there were advantages, he knew, in teaching him himself. Ran would want for nothing. He would learn at his own pace, without embarrassment or fear, because to do anything would shatter the innocence that the boy wore around him like a veil.

Yet, despite his good intentions, Crawford hungered.

There was a porcelain milkiness to the boy’s skin in the predawn light that maddened him. He felt as soft as feather-tips against his fingers and the boy took the curiosity with a soft indulgence, like the puppy would his master’s petting. He laid his hand against the quiver of Ran’s belly as the boy let out an appealing peal of laughter. “What are you doing?” he asked, his smile was fond and rather loving, and his lips were reddened from the kisses. Crawford had been quick to learn that Ran liked kissing, and he was happily indulging.

“I’m learning you.” Crawford told him and then reached over and claimed the boy’s lips with his own. Ran tasted of fruit and spring and when he opened his mouth slightly to better taste the boy he was surprised that Ran mirrored the action. The boy learnt quickly.

He flicked the tip of his tongue against Ran’s lips but caught the boy when he jerked back. “What?” He asked, a little apprehensive but still licking his own lips, tasting Crawford there.

“It’s just another way to kiss you.” Crawford told him, “we don’t have to do it if you don’t like it, but I thought you might like to try.” Ran frowned for a moment as he considered it, he was obviously unaware of the very suggestion. “Why don’t we try it, and if you don’t like it we won’t do it again.” 

That appeased the boy and he reached forward for Crawford to kiss him again, as Crawford gently plundered the boy’s mouth with his tongue, chasing Ran’s own, which was as shy as the boy himself, he started drumming his finger tips of the slim expanse of the boy’s belly, just above the line of his waistband knowing that soon he would plunge his fingers underneath the fabric.

Ran was his now, and the only thing that might stop him was the boy’s tears. 

He wanted Ran to enjoy it because if he did then he would do it more often.

Ran was raising himself into the kiss, his fingers were still on the back of Crawford’s neck, light pads of pressure as Crawford pressed the boy with his shoulders into the down mattress. There had to be some evidence of sex in the bed or the marriage would be void and Crawford fully intended to enjoy it, slithering the tips of two fingers into the waistband of Ran’s sleeping pants.

Ran jerked back with his hips even as he pressed his face closer to Crawford’s taking deep ragged breaths through his nose. Crawford used his free hand to smooth Ran’s hair, like he was stroking a skittish horse and Ran settled into the gesture frightened but soothed by the gesture. Taking permission from the gesture Crawford slipped his hand into Ran’s pants, above the line of wiry curls but deep enough that Ran knew it was there.

To his credit although he was wary of the touch he didn’t back down from it this time. “I don’t know,” Ran murmured against his mouth.

“Trust me,” Crawford told him, biting the boy’s fruit soft lips, “you’re doing fine.” He traced his mouth along the smooth line of Ran’s jaw, mouthing kisses along the curve of his throat. “Have you never touched yourself?” He asked.

“No,” Ran whimpered, unsure of what to do but enjoying what was happening regardless.

Crawford had a sudden image of the boy’s hand on his own swollen cock, a cock that even now was slowly stirring against his thighs, he could see it through the thin sleeping pants. “Would you like to know how?” He asked then, more than anything right now, he wanted to see the boy touch himself.

Ran nodded, biting his lips. “Raise your hips.” Crawford said, slipping his hand from Ran’s pants to tug on the waistline. Ran looked at him wide eyed, “You can’t learn if you can’t see.” Crawford soothed, Ran lifted his hips and allowed Crawford to pull down his pants to reveal his stirring erection to his husband. “Beautiful,” Crawford said softly then kissed Ran softly on the nose and chin, “just beautiful.”

Ran was blushing as red as his hair, his entire face, chest and throat were flushed with pink as Crawford trailed his finger tips along the boy’s breastbone. “It will feel really good,” Crawford soothed, “I promise, this is what comes after the kissing.” He reached up and kissed the boy again.

Reaching across the boy’s stomach he gently lifted his right hand, smoothing his thumb over the palm before he brought his hand over to the boy’s erection and held it in place there. Ran blushed even brighter, and covered his eyes with his left hand. “It’s all right,” Crawford soothed, “I want to see.” Pulling Ran’s hand gently away from his eyes he   
clutched it in his own, “so beautiful.” His voice was calm and whispery, “so very beautiful.”

 

Ran was lost to his forcefulness but never without the impression that he could, at any moment, escape it. He could stop it if he said, but this was what Crawford wanted, and pleasing Crawford was his duty to Inabayama. He had been married to him not by choice, although he might not have chosen differently, but for Inabayama. Part of him wondered, if he didn’t want this also.

Crawford lifted his right hand and brought it slowly, palm down, just light enough to touch, over his cock. He had never felt anything like this before, even though his eyes were screwed tight, Crawford holding his hands tight kept him anchored. The sensation from his cock arced along his nerves and pooled in his stomach, he couldn’t help his mouth falling open with an exhalation. It felt so good.

He had never felt anything like this before. He opened his eyes slightly, biting down on his lower lip to see that Crawford was indulgently smug. Then Crawford did it again, guiding his hand to touch himself. He couldn’t look at what Crawford was making him do, as good as it felt it was terribly embarrassing, but he could stare at Crawford’s rapt attention. As odd as Ran found it Crawford was enjoying the spectacle.

 

He pushed the tips of Ran’s fingers to the underside of his swollen cock and listened with undisguised pleasure to the boy’s ragged moan. He had had no idea that Ran’s naiveté would be so empowering, the boy was seeping, his cock wet and slick against his fingers, Crawford could feel it against his own hand as well. He was the one using Ran’s hand to stroke himself, he was the one who was manipulating Ran’s hips off the bed with the touch he had never had before, he was the one making Ran squirm.  
And he liked it.

Ran came with a broken sigh and his back arching. 

Crawford ignored his own aching erection and just stroked the boy’s arm and kissed his neck. “Beautiful,” he murmured again, “so very beautiful.” But Ran was already asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

(i)

Ran was dreaming. The world had the technicolour and sepia brilliance of a dream. In the dream he was back in Inabayama, in the beach under his mother’s window but the sea was distant and the sand was solid, not shifting under his feet. He could hear the sea but there was no brine smell.

On the beach, skipping were three girls, as they skipped they were chanting a skipping rhythm, such as those that Aya had used.

“One for sorrow,   
Two for mirth,  
Three for a death  
And four for a birth  
Five for silver  
Six for gold  
Seven for a heart that’s lost to the cold  
Eight for heaven  
Nine for hell  
Ten for a secret you never can tell.”

Over and over again they repeated the rhyme as they turned the rope and the girl jumped in time. 

Unsure what else to do he walked towards them.

All of the girls had long hair, pulled up in twin tails on either side of their heads. They wore short dresses with white socks and aprons. There were ribbons in their hair, but as he neared them he could see that there wasn’t three girls. There was one. She was there three times. And they repeated the rhyme.

Now he was beside them he could see that their dresses were made of soft green lace and their shoes were shining black leather that slapped on the sand when the girl jumped in time to avoid the rope.

“One for sorrow,   
Two for mirth,  
Three for a death  
And four for a birth  
Five for silver  
Six for gold  
Seven for a heart that’s lost to the cold  
Eight for heaven  
Nine for hell  
Ten for a secret you never can tell.”

One of the girls turned to look at him and offered him a kind smile. There was a faint greenish tinge to her skin. Then she stepped out of the spinning rope and walked over to him. 

Her skirt was scandalously short and her hair bobbed as she moved. In the pocket of her apron she had a mirror. It was a perfect circle and there was a scarlet rope with tassel on the back. Because it was a dream he could make these details out.

She laid her hand, which was cold to the touch, on his cheek and leant in against him and whispered in his ear, “three for a death.”  
He awoke in Crawford’s bed with a start.

Sometime since he had fallen asleep Crawford had turned and thrown his arm across Ran’s chest. It was heavy and hot though Ran felt cold. His breathing was irregular and his stomach was turning circles. He threw off Crawford’s arm and ran to the privy where he was violently sick.

Crawford came in behind him, sleep mussed and not really awake, he carried a cup of water and tried to rub his back but Ran shooed him away. “Just a bad dream,” he murmured even as he pressed his face against the wall, hoping his stomach had settled. “Just a bad dream.”

Crawford wiped his face for him, with a small square of silk edged in soft white lace, like he was a child and held out the water. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask him about the dream, nor did he touch him other than making sure Ran’s fingers closed about the beaker of water.

(ii)

Ran was despondent for a few days after the wedding. He barely ate, and both Schuldig and Yohji closed ranks between him and his new husband. Despite Crawford’s terrible reputation, and the shadowy form of his torturer occasionally in the halls of the mountain retreat, they were determined to do their best to protect the boy in their care, even if it was from his husband.

Ran would not talk about it either, which only fuelled their nightmares regarding what had happened. He went to bed, alone, early, but didn’t sleep. Sometimes they heard him rise in the middle of the night and he would stand by the window, but he would tell them he was just sleepless and he wanted to watch the moon. That he stood with his arms about himself only worried them more.

Crawford never pressed him either.

On the eighth such day Manx came to the mountain retreat, she had left Omi in someone else’s care and wrapped her arms about Ran and the storm that boiled within him shattered and he wept. It was only later that Manx told them the news that she had received in her mail that day, on the morning after he had been married his sister, Aya, had died, peacefully in her sleep.

Yohji was the one to tell Crawford, his apology for the things he had suggested of him, he kept quiet.

Ran changed that day, but Crawford was kind and patient and later that came to mean a very great deal to him indeed.

(iii)

Ran stood at the balcony with a light wool shawl about his shoulders. He hadn’t even dressed for the day. It had been three weeks since Manx had told him of Aya’s death and in that time he had lost weight, he had ignored his puppy that had been given into the care of Naoe and Omi who spoiled it relentlessly.

The moon had a halo that suggested upcoming frost but the boy stood in just sleeping pants and the shawl that Yohji had slipped around his shoulders. He ignored Yohji’s attempts to make him eat and sent Schuldig scurrying with a glare. Unsure what else to do the two soldiers turned to Crawford.

He opened the door with an involuntary shiver at the cold. The fire had been let die down and with the balcony windows open there was no place to hide from the cold but the bed which had not been turned down. Just as Ran refused food he sent the maids away.

“Come away from the window.” Crawford said calmly, “you’ll catch your death.” He stepped up beside the boy, ignoring his glare, which was, he had to admit, quite impressive. “Aya wouldn’t want that of you.”

Ran turned and for the first time even acknowledged him. “What do you know of what she’d want?” He asked, “You never knew her.”

“No,” Crawford conceded, “but I know you,” he said softly, “and I know if you had been the one to die that you wouldn’t want her to kill herself.”

“Manx told you to say that.” Aya accused.

“Manx cares for me less than she cares for Yohji.” Crawford corrected him; “in fact if there was even a suggestion that I had hurt you she would not hesitate to slip something   
nasty into my wine.” Ran didn’t look at him but turned his attention back to the halo around the moon. “Would you like to return to Inabayama to say goodbye?” He asked.

At that Ran looked at him. “But,” he said, “my duty is here.”

“Your duty is with me.” Crawford corrected, “and so far you have done it admirably.” It was a salve to the boy’s tattered ego, “but if you need to we can go to Inabayama. She was your sister, I am not heartless, Ran, no matter what they say of me. If you need to go to Inabayama I will go with you.”

Ran was silent but Crawford could see him working out what it must have cost Crawford to say it. “Is it the same moon over Eressea?” Ran asked suddenly turning back to the moon which was a brilliant white in a dark indigo sky.

“Yes,” Crawford said stepping in close behind him. “There is a legend here, in Eressea, about the moon. Apparently,” he wrapped his arms about Ran to warm him, a little surprised that the boy did not push him away as he had before. “There is a kingdom on the moon, and one day a princess fell to earth with only a shawl and the clothes she wore. She didn’t speak the same language but the king of Eressea when he saw her beauty pressured her into marriage. She refused.” He wasn’t sure when Ran had leant back into him but he was glad. “She told him that her shawl was one of the cloths of heaven, that it was the halo around the moon and without it that the universe would be thrown into chaos and she must return to her kingdom in the moon. He didn’t believe her.”

Ran had settled into his arms and Crawford could feel his heart beat against his chest, steady and unbroken, but the body in his arms was limp and careless. “And he forced her into marriage regardless.

“But the moon princess, Tsukihime, hadn’t lied. And as the year waned the frost didn’t come, the winter was so mild it was almost summer and for one year that was not a problem. The second year came and went with no winter, and a third. The plains began to flood; the forests grew out of control, and the crops failed. The animals grew thin and confused. But still the king would not let her go.”

Ran was quiet as Crawford told him the story. He said nothing, just slowly stared at the corona of the moon.

“Armies came and ignored the island because it was poor, without winter the ground was as if it had been salted. Five years passed, and then ten, until the people were starved, and like all starving peasants do, they revolted. And in the centre of it was Tsukihime, pale and lovely, with her shawl of frozen moonlight about her.” Crawford stroked one of Ran’s ear tails, twining it through his fingers. It soothed the boy. “As her champions stood over the body of her husband she told him what she had told him when she refused him marriage, that she had to return to the heavens, at least for part of the year. With no choice he allowed her, releasing her from her wifely duties. That year the winter came, but when spring returned so did Tsukihime.” 

“I don’t understand.” Ran said finally, “Why tell me this?”

“Because what the king learned was that sometimes, even if you don’t want to, you have to let people go and trust that they’ll return. I want you to go to Inabayama because you need to say goodbye, I will go with you because I nearly married your sister and I would like to pass on my respects too.” 

At that Ran turned to look at his husband, turning in his arms so that he could lay his cheek upon Crawford’s chest. “Thank you,” he murmured. “for being so kind.”

“Ran,” he tilted the boy’s face up to look at him, “there is more to being a husband than making rules.” He said, “and more than what happens in the bedroom. I am supposed to be strong for you, so when you need to then you can be strong for me.”

“I don’t know how.” Ran said, it was a broken exhalation. “I don’t know how.”

“Then let me be strong for you.” Crawford said lowering his face for a kiss, breathing the words against Ran’s mouth. “Let me show you how.” His lips were almost touching Ran’s mouth.

“I don’t know how.” Ran repeated.

“Just let me,” Crawford said, his lips mouthing the words against Ran’s, “just give in.”

So Ran did, he opened his mouth for Crawford’s kiss and gave himself willingly.

As he succumbed to the kiss Ran felt his knees weaken but it didn’t matter because Crawford was there to catch him, and he did, the arms, which had been so comforting, were now strong and supported his weight, and without breaking that kiss, without diverting attention from his tongue, Crawford scooped him up, pushing shut the balcony door with his hip as he carried Ran to the bed.

He pulled away the shawl from Ran’s shoulders like he was unwrapping a prize, baring the ice white shoulders to his hands and mouth. But he met Ran’s eyes with his own, “tell me to stop and I will.” Ran didn’t answer him, but his eyes were dead. His kisses tasted of duty but Crawford didn’t stop. He kissed the pale nipples on his chest, he dipped his tongue into the boy’s navel and although Ran cried out he didn’t stop. He undid the points of the boy’s sleeping pants as his tongue slipped inside. He looked up, Ran’s head was cast back and his eyes were closed. “This is just another way to love you.” He said and then took the boy’s swelling flesh in his mouth.

It didn’t take long. Ran was young and inexperienced. He was biting down on the flesh of his hand as he came in Crawford’s mouth, but he didn’t tell him to stop. “So beautiful,” Crawford murmured even as he wiped a few stray drops from his lips, “so very beautiful.” He crawled up Ran’s body, pressing kisses on the sweet white meat of his muscles, of his pectorals and abdominals before kissing him on the hollow of his throat. “Let me love you,” Crawford murmured even as he reached across his body, “just trust me.”  
Ran didn’t answer him. He took the small vial of oil from Ran’s bedside table, it was shaped like a perfume bottle, with a wide neck but narrowed to a point, and he uncorked it quickly filling the room with the scent of briar roses. “Just let me love you, beautiful.” 

Ran didn’t answer him.

So with gentle touches Crawford started to touch him, running his fingers over the puckered entrance, and then slowly pressing in. Ran made no objection. He circled with one finger, pressing the oil into the hot moist flesh, noting as Ran’s hips lifted but his face turned away.

Crawford took his time. He had promised Ran nothing but pleasure in his bed so he took his time even though he himself ached with arousal. He stroked the boy’s prostate on every other thrust of his finger, and kissed away Ran’s whimper when he added the second.

He spent over an hour preparing the boy, placing occasional kisses to his mouth, his throat, his chest, his cock. It was only when three of his fingers slid in and out that he took the oil and coated his own aching erection. He worried that he might burst if he took it quickly, so he carefully pushed himself inside.

Ran was hot and tight inside, and maddeningly, brain meltingly good.

He pushed and pushed as Ran bit into his finger, he murmured encouragements even as he almost pushed himself past his ability to reason, and it was only when he was fully seated that he took Ran’s thighs in his hands and turned them over so Ran was above him. He might want to sate his lust and just pound into the boy until they both came but Ran was not ready for that. He would take it at Ran’s pace. He pulled Ran’s finger from his mouth, seeing the tooth marks embedded in the skin of his knuckle, and threaded those fingers through with his own. “So beautiful.” He repeated as putting both their hands on Ran’s hips he started to gently raised and lower him unto his aching erection.

When he came he did so with an animal grunt, feeling the push and pull against as Ran found his own rhythm and rode him, he had cast his head back and the palms of his hands were sweaty and even though Crawford had come he didn’t stop, he must have been close, Crawford thought, watching the blush build on his chest and throat.

When he came, after a few long moments in which Crawford just watched him, with his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut he collapsed on Crawford’s chest in such a way that he slipped out of him, panting and exhausted but would not let Crawford pull his hands away from his own. “show me how,” he murmured in Crawford’s ear, “I need you to show me how.”


	8. Chapter 8

(i)

After that Ran and Crawford were inseparable, or more accurately, Ran followed his husband around like a lost lamb. Although he would retire late at night to his own bed he would rise after an hour or so and walk past his champions with a robe about his shoulders and go to Crawford’s room. Crawford’s personal guard, a frightening one-eyed man, just opened the door to the boy. Then he would shuffle, without saying a word, and stand sentinel at the side of Crawford’s bed until the blanket was pulled back and then he’d climb in and snuggle up against Crawford’s broad chest.

He never asked if he could do that, and if Crawford asked if he wanted to go to bed with him he just refused.

Yet night after night, just after midnight, he would be drawn to Crawford’s room. Sometimes all he wanted to do was lie there, Crawford supposed it made him feel safe, and sometimes he made his wants known in a thousand simple ways. Sometimes it was a light kiss, or sometimes he would toss and turn until Crawford took the hint and kissed him.  
Crawford liked to believe the boy was inherently horny, yet during the sex Ran was often desperate, clinging to Crawford tightly, and he never looked at him. Afterwards he was affectionate, often stroking Crawford’s face or running his fingers through his chest hair. He never took a dominant position and he never touched Crawford without his hands being guided.

Sometimes Crawford spent hours in foreplay and yet Ran never begged. He would kiss Ran until his lips were swollen, he would kiss his nipples, his throat, the insides of his elbows, the knob of his wrists, the bone of his ankles. He left no part of his body undiscovered in an attempt to make Ran call out. He never did. 

Yet he clung to him like an anchor, and sometimes when Crawford was deep within his body, when Ran’s back was arched and his thighs spread, sometimes the boy cried. It wasn’t pain, for Crawford was far too careful for that, but he would often wipe away tears from his cheeks and then kiss his eyelids. 

He wondered if this was the way Ran found to grieve.

This new licentiousness was not limited to the hours between midnight and dawn however. Ran would accompany him to his offices, he would sit silently at his side as he did his business, he would be polite and charming to the other lords of the privy council that called on him, and he would either give into Crawford’s lustful stares, walking across the room with dead eyes as he undid his shirt, or even seduce him himself.

Crawford liked to believe that the boy was just inherently horny, as most boys that age were.

Ran allowed him every liberty with his body, and in very strange ways made clear his intention, so there was no room for mistake in Crawford’s eyes, and the boy never told him to stop, oft times he would move his hand to a place that Ran preferred to be touched.

Yet the only non-physical sign of his enjoyment, and it was clear that he did enjoy it, was the breathy grunt when he came.

Sometimes Ran would sit at his feet, like a dog or a slave, and lay his cheek against his thigh. 

If he conducted an interview then Ran would leave with Yohji, who would often wait outside the office, and they would return maybe an hour later. Sometimes Yohji had thought ahead and bought them food for left to his own devices Ran wouldn’t eat. If he placed food before him however he did.

Sometimes he just sat on the couch in Crawford’s office with a book in his hands, that he pretended to read when Crawford worked.

Ran was mourning, Crawford thought as he put in place the last few measures that would allow him to take the boy home to Inabayama, and he couldn’t question his behaviour.

(ii)

Crawford had never cared for sea travel. He found it drawn out and boring, hence when his king had needed a general who would travel between Eressea and the battlefield Crawford instead had taken the position of Inquisitor General. The journey between Eressea and Inabayama was just over a week and in that time Ran stood at the prow, staring out to sea looking for the endless towers of the capital.

Yohji and Schuldig stood behind him like statues, neither said anything and sometimes Crawford would look up from the work that he had brought with him, in the care of his chief torturer who had made a passable manservant, to look at the boy.

Ran stood ramrod straight, his hair was growing out as Crawford had asked him to do, but just looked shaggy but whipped about his head and face. Yohji had convinced him to wear a cloak, probably by pinning it on him himself, and Schuldig stood downwind of it, like a pillar to the side of the boy.

There was something lost about Ran as he stood there, something desolate. Crawford found his eyes drawn to it as it slowly added to the boy’s beauty. 

In Eressea the boy had been his shadow, on the boat he was more a figurehead. Crawford half expected him to dive from the prow into the water, but his two knights would have followed him down. Crawford knew the laws of their duty, of how far they would go, but he suspected that Ran’s gentle naiveté and warm heart meant that the two of them would follow him into hell. His own manservant feared Crawford enough that he would have dived into the water too.

At night Ran slept wedged between Yohji and Schuldig, his hand pulling on his ear tail. Crawford supposed it was better that way.

(iii)

Ran sprinted into his mother’s arms, falling to his knees before her and burying his face in her skirts. She lowered her hands to his hair, but remained firm. She was a lady of the realm and in the face of her son’s husband she would not waver, even if all she wanted to do was collapse into her son’s arms and mourn with him.

His father was stern and thin, it was obvious that Ran had inherited his mother’s beauty. “Thank you.” Ayako said in her quiet voice, “for bringing him home.”

The statement made Crawford irrationally jealous, “This is no longer his home.” He said in a clipped manner, “he needs closure, I brought him to Inabayama to mourn with his family, in one month we will return to Eressea.”

“Nevertheless,” Ranmura said, “we are grateful that you could bring him.” His voice was soft and rich, like Ran’s. “Lodgings have been arranged for your entire party here at the Fujimiya estate but I ask you to bear in mind that it is a house in mourning.”

“Certainly,” Crawford said, “I will leave Ran in your care,” he said, “for now.”

(iv)

Crawford found the king of Inabayama to be a thoughtless boor. He sat at his desk as if at a throne and gave the idea he was wearing an imaginary crown. Crawford had dealt with him, by mail, arranging the marriage contract in his role as one of the privy council to his own king, but he knew with absolute certainty that Inabayama would fall to the forces of the Nemesis for the simple reason that the king was an idiot.

“What brings you to Inabayama, is it in an official capacity? Is that why you brought your chief torturer?” The king asked. If it had been his own king the Privy Council would have surrounded him, and it said something about this man’s arrogance that he disregarded all the advice that he might otherwise have had.

“I am here with my bride,” Crawford said simply, “I am returning him to the bosom of his family at this time.”

“Bored of him already,” the king laughed, “the Fujimiya are pretty but staid.”

“no,” Crawford said, knowing he would never tire of Ran, “the family is in mourning, I brought him home to mourn with his family, he asked if I would accompany him.”

“Perhaps you didn’t want to leave his sweet ass for the six weeks a journey entails.” The king said with a leer, “as I recall he was a comely lad.”

“He is mine,” Crawford said with a hint of steel, “and my king asked that I check the state of your defences as the Nemesis’ forces are less than a hundred miles from your walls and your trade is important to us. He wanted to know if we would have to send forces to bolster your own.” He was biding his temper. A fool ruled Inabayama. 

“Is that why you hold Mamoru hostage?” the king said leaning back to make himself seem more impressive. It didn’t faze Crawford in the slightest.

“Mamoru is a guest in my home, he has struck up a friendship with my young son, he could leave at any time he wants, in fact I asked if he wanted to return with me. He refused. He is enjoying the Eressean winter.” It was true; Omi wasn’t a hostage, yet.

“If all your king sought was knowledge of our armed forces then why did he send his chief interrogator and torturer?” Perhaps, Crawford thought, this man wasn’t as much of an arrogant idiot as he appeared.

“Because I once served in his armies, I commanded the legion at Herensea.” Crawford told him, “and I was coming anyway, accompanying my bride.”

“I can assure you, and your king, that there will be little need for his assistance, as I’m sure you noticed the Heaven’s Guard are undefeated and peerless in battle. Inabayama will fall either to the Nemesis or to your king, if he so chooses to attack us. We are well defended on land and sea.”

Crawford resisted the urge to snort in disbelief. The Heaven Guard were good but the forces of the Nemesis were almost numberless, and even if they managed to defeat them there was always the army of Estet to fear in their shadow. The man was a fool, it was something he hadn’t noticed when he had arranged the marriage contract. The man was arrogant, he knew that Inabayama had been the home of the gods and he had the misconception that that was obviously enough to protect it. “I am having supper tonight with some of my more intimate friends,” the king said loosely, “you’re welcome to come, and bring your bride.”

“He is in his time of mourning.” Crawford said stiffly, “he will not attend.”

“Oh yes,” the king said, “his sister, it got a little messy, towards the end.” It was more than enough. 

Crawford slammed his hand down on the king’s desk. “I am a guest of the Fujimiya, majesty, not you.” He grated, “and my manservant often takes offence on my behalf and once he is unleashed I can not rein him in.” It was a badly veiled threat, the king paled. “And his reputation precedes him I see. I may not have known Aya Fujimiya but I know her brother well, and such words will cause him hurt that he does not need. I am fond of the lad and will not see him hurt over one man’s careless words. Shall I tell Farfarello to keep his knives sharp? When the knives are sharp one doesn’t feel the cut.”

“You’re a brave man, Crawford,” the king said, “to threaten the king in his own study.”

Crawford’s smile was slow and sinuous, “just a warning, majesty, just a warning.”


	9. Chapter 9

(i)  
Every day Ran awoke before dawn and walked along the beach where he had first seen the piskie in the hope, unconsciously maybe, that he would see her again. He didn’t. He didn’t know what it was that he wanted to say to her, just that he needed to say something. Nevertheless she never appeared to hear it. 

Crawford would stand at the window and watch him through the glass, and just behind, almost out of sight were his champions. If he wondered what the boy did he never asked.

He couldn’t wait to be out of this backwater of a country. He was only here because Ran wanted to be, because Ran needed time to mourn.

What Ran didn’t know then, and wouldn’t know till years later was that it was Inabayama that he was mourning, not his sister.

One of the few things Crawford took with him from Inabayama was a portrait on vellum in charcoal of Ran lying asleep with his sister’s doll in his arms. He would have it framed and in later years it would be cherished in ways other, greater, pieces of art were not.

(ii)

Crawford returned home to Eressea to a commission. He had, in his position as Inquisitor General, been told to go to the front at Herensie to maintain order. He didn’t even bother to unpack, just added his armour and “work clothes” to his luggage and asked Ran, with both of his hands held, if he wanted to go to.

Ran offered him a tired smile. “I was to be a member of the Heaven Guard,” he said quietly, he had lost his passion with his sister, “I will give what I know to protect you.” It wasn’t why Crawford wanted him to come but he appreciated the gesture regardless.

The journey was long and arduous but Ran didn’t complain once. In fact he didn’t speak much at all.

“Who is it that Eressea is at war with?” Ran asked that night over supper. As Inquisitor General whenever Crawford stopped a great palanquin was raised for him to bed down in, and food worthy of a king was prepared. Crawford frowned into his wine that Ran obviously still didn’t think of Eressea as his home.

“Estet.” Crawford answered. Ran’s champions had left him alone for the night, they were probably making free of the local town’s inn knowing the two of them. Farfarello was just outside the tent opening. He was probably smiling at people as they passed, as he knew that frightened them more than anything else. “They come from the east, they’re determined to take over the continent.”

“And the Nemesis?” Ran asked.

“We don’t understand his intentions at all. He leaves bureaucracy behind but abolishes the governments and kills most of the noble families to prevent any claims to the throne other than that of his viceroy. He destroys all armies except his own.” Crawford poured himself more of the sweet white wine, and refilled Ran’s cup. 

Ran lifted it and swirled it around but didn’t drink. He had barely eaten. 

“I’ve never been to war before.” Ran said quietly.

“It’s not war.” Crawford corrected him, “it’s the front, Eressea holds the fort on one side of the lake, Estet on the other, it doesn’t seem to upset the natives at all.” He speared a piece of the meat on his plate and chewed on it thoughtfully. Since he had met Ran he enjoyed taking his supper with him. The boy was intelligent, if shy, and sometimes his answers were provoking. Despite Ran’s best attempts to convince the world of the contrary he was actually very clever. Crawford wondered if his long pauses were just his shyness or if he was contemplating what was said.

“Who is the Nemesis?” He asked quietly. “I heard him mentioned a lot in Inabayama.”

“His army is not far from Inabayama, maybe two weeks.” Crawford explained, “I think the king might be in talks with them.” 

“If his intentions are the betterment of the nation where is the problem?” Ran asked, “surely if they surrendered peacefully then he wouldn’t be forced to take the measure he does to prevent uprisings.” 

This was why Crawford adored Ran, the boy, deny it as he might, was brilliant. “It’s not that simple.” Crawford told him, “they take tithes.”

“All countries take taxes.” Ran corrected.

“It’s not money, they take,” Crawford paused, “they call them Janissary.” There was a prolonged silence as Crawford worked out the best way to explain. “They take people, Ran, to join the court at Atzara. Children mostly.” Ran frowned. “it’s a double edged sword, although they take them from their families, they educate them and give them a better life in the government. However,” he stopped again, making sure Ran took in what he was saying, “the beautiful ones, the lovely ones, are installed in the Seraglio.” He reached across the small table and touched Ran’s soft white cheek. “We don’t know what happens to them then, perhaps they stay there until they’re old and ugly, perhaps they’re sold to the brothels. I don’t know.”

“Does it bother you,” Ran asked, cutting through to the heart of the matter, “That you don’t know? I suppose you would like to know that such a fate would not befall Naoe.”

“Naoe?” Crawford said softly with a small laugh. “He is too young to make such assumptions, I suppose it is you that I fear for.” He ran the pad of his thumb over Ran’s lips.

“Why?” Ran asked, “I’m just funny looking.” 

Crawford burst out laughing. “Ran,” he said with all honesty, “already you’re one of the most lovely people I have ever seen, and as you get older you get more and more beautiful. Do you still read the books about Celabrien?” Ran nodded, unsure where this is going. “And Alaric her handsome champion.” Ran just nodded. “When you described Celabrien to me I always saw her with your face.”

Ran blushed prettily, even deep in despair as he so obviously was, such a compliment moved him. He took Crawford’s hand in his own and stood up, moving away from the table, and pulled him towards the bed. Crawford’s cock leapt in his pants at the prospect. “You don’t have to do this because I complimented you, Ran,” he forced himself to say, he had promised that he would never force Ran to do something he didn’t want to, or wasn’t ready to do, “I don’t just tell you that you’re beautiful in bed you know, I do think you’re very beautiful.” 

It was clear Ran didn’t want to hear any more because he pressed his finger to Crawford’s lips and shook his head, “just hold me,” he said softly, “please.” 

Willing the blood to leave his erection Crawford pushed Ran’s jerkin away from his shoulders, baring the creamy flesh, “I’ll do anything you want,” he kissed the cord of Ran’s neck softly, “anything you want,” he repeated.

As maddening as he found it to be curled up with Ran, with one hand on his lush buttock, Crawford obeyed his bride, and simply held him.

(iii)

The town of Herensea was heavily fortified and behind strong tall walls. Eressean flags snapped in the wind as Ran looked up, “welcome,” Crawford said to the boy who had his hood pulled up to the sun, “to Herensea.” Ran offered him a wan smile and then looked back to Yohji and Schuldig who rode slightly behind, as if reassuring himself that they were there.

Ran’s chambers were lush despite the harshness of the citadel. There were several rather lovely tapestries and heavy velvet drapes to keep out the cold. There was also a large polished mirror and several large closets for his clothes. Crawford had made it clear that he was to have anything and everything he wanted, and that he was to be obeyed as if he was lord here. The condition was that he did not leave the citadel without an armed escort, which meant more than his two champions.

Before Aya’s death Ran might have ransacked the room looking for its secrets. He simply put his things away. In the back of one of the drawers was a book, he opened it curiously then dropped it in shock.

“What is it, kiddo?” Schuldig asked hearing the noise.

“That?” He said pointing at the book.

“What is it? A treatise on torture?” He flicked through the pages, then tilted his head to look better at the illustrations. “Woah,” he said and then tilted his head more, “I think I better,” his head was almost perpendicular now, “confiscate this,” he turned over the page, “that’s just not humanly possible.” He turned over the page again, “and you’d need a bath in the morning after that one, just to loosen the muscles.”

“What?” Yohji said coming in, “what’s that?”

“It’s Ran’s.” Schuldig teased, showing him the cover of the book. It was a beautifully tooled leather cover.

“I,” Ran began, “I found it, it’s not mine.”

“So what is it?” Yohji asked crossing the room to them.

“A pillow book,” Schuldig said with a smirk, “with illustrations, and it’s for men.”

“Crawford dropping you hints, kiddo?” Yohji asked with a mock punch on the arm. Ran just blushed even brighter. “Let me see,” He said taking the book from Schuldig and opened it to an interesting page, “I think that this one’s illegal in nine out of the ten city states,” he said tilting his head, “and that’s just,” he stopped, “well maybe if you did put your leg like that, and your arm there.”

“Ecchi,” Schuldig said slapping him around the back of the head. “I think I should tell Crawford.”

“No,” Ran said suddenly, “I,” he blushed again, “I wanna know how,” he said, “and,” he lowered his eyes to the floor, “I just wanna,” he stammered out finally.

“You mean,” Schuldig raised his eyebrows in question, “in all this time?”

“No,” Ran said, “I just,” he sighed, “lie back and think of Inabayama.” He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, “I just,” both of them looked softly indulgent, “I just.”

“Ran,” Yohji said softly, “we’re all shy at first, just do what feels good, hell, I know prostitutes that couldn’t do half the stuff in that book.”

“I know contortionists that couldn’t’ either.” Schuldig admitted, “nor contortionist prostitutes.” Despite himself Ran laughed at that. “Why don’t you just tell Crawford that?” 

“Or show him the book? I mean you must have spent a pretty penny on it, it looks expensive.” Yohji told him.

“I found it,” Ran protested, “it was in the drawer,”

“And Schuldig doesn’t pay his contortionist prostitutes,” Yohji laughed.

“But,” Ran protested,

“He’s teasing you, Kirsche.” Schuldig said, “ignore him, it’s been so long that he has to turn to things like that book.” Ran could hear the snigger in his voice.

“I thought,” Ran said with his most innocent look, “That you two,” he left it open as both of them gaped at him.

“With him?” Schuldig spluttered, “he cares more about his hair than most people.”

“At least I bathe regularly,” Yohji countered.

“I can do page sixty three.” Schuldig told him with a leer. 

Yohji skipped to the page, then tilted his head, “really?” He asked.

Ran just laughed.


	10. Chapter 10

(i)  
Crawford took the book from Ran and carefully opened the front cover, then he smiled to himself, “She must have left this behind for you,” he said fondly as Ran blushed to his hairline. “Lady Birman Redgrove,” Crawford explained, “she was commander here before me, she said that she would leave me a gift, giving that book to you must have been it.”

“But,” Ran protested, “Yotan said that half of these things were impossible for contortionist prostitutes.” 

Crawford’s laugh was deep and low, and Ran thought to himself, very sexy. It was one of the few times he had thought of his husband as sexy and he decided it was the book’s entire fault. “Lady Redgrove has a strange sense of humour,” he said, “but she wouldn’t give you something she thought you couldn’t do,” he turned to an illustration, “and we’ve already done that one.” He said showing Ran the page.

Ran looked at it, “really?” he asked. He took the outstretched book and then tilted his head, “I didn’t think I was that limber.”

Crawford laughed again; his smile was fond and indulgent. “You really spend too much time with Yohji and Schuldig,” he said but there was nothing incriminating or unhappy in his tone. Ran turned the page, “I know we’ve done this one,” he said showing Crawford the illustration, “well, you’ve done this one.” He blushed again. “I,” he shuffled his feet, 

“could I,” he said.

“You want to do that?” Crawford finished the sentence for him. His smile was indulgent, “later, I have a meeting soon and although there’s nothing I’d like better, I simply don’t have time at the moment.” He reached across the desk and kissed Ran on the mouth, “not that I’ll be able to concentrate now.” He said closing the book, “You’re a wicked boy, Ran, to give me such ideas before I’m due to meet the mother’s council of Herensea.” He took Ran’s hand and squeezed it, “you might want to take the book as well.” Ran blushed a little brighter, if that was possible. Crawford took the three steps around the desk so that he was in line with Ran’s ear, leaning down just a little to whisper, “of course I’ll imagine you touching yourself,” he whispered, “whilst your waiting for me, imagining what you’re going to do to me.” Ran swallowed and Crawford turned his face around and kissed him.

Crawford deliberately rocked his hips against the boy’s, feeling the swelling there and smirked into the kiss.

Ran batted him away. “Crawford,” he protested, pulling away, “it’s still daytime.” 

Crawford just smirked, then pulled away, and went to the door. “Farfarello,” he said to his manservant, “will you inform the ladies of the Mother’s Council that I’m going to be indisposed for the rest of the afternoon, the travelling took more out of me than I thought, and ask them to rearrange their appointment.” 

Farfarello grunted an answer, and Crawford turned back to Ran, “it’s fine,” he said, “it was only a greeting to let me know the lie of the land here.” He said, moving in such a way that Ran was pinned against the table, “and believe me, no one will try and get past Farfarello.” He took Ran’s face in his hands, “Your hair is getting longer,” he said, moving the strands with his fingertips.

“You asked me to grow it,” Ran said softly, unsure where this was going.

“I know,” Crawford whispered, leaning in closer to the boy, “and it makes you all the more beautiful.” He lowered his hands to the boy’s hips and lifted him up unto the desk, standing between his spread legs and rubbing his own erection against the boy’s. 

“Your meeting,” Ran protested as Crawford began to kiss his jaw and rub the ridge of flesh that was raising against his pants.

“Irrelevant,” Crawford said, untying Ran’s jerkin, and pushing it back, “cancelled.” He began to leave hot wet kisses along his collarbone, “just let me, love,” he murmured, “just let me love you.” 

“But,” Ran protested, even as his hands bunched in Crawford’s shirt pulling him closer, “I want to,” he stammered, “I mean, I,” he blushed.

Crawford smiled even as his hand rubbed against Ran’s stirring erection. “Give me your hand,” he said softly, Ran obeyed, and Crawford brought it up against his own erection. 

“You can touch me all you like, Ran,” he ran his tongue the length of Ran’s neck and stopped at his lips, “you can kiss me where you like, I don’t mind,” he sucked Ran’s lower lip into his mouth, “in fact, I’d rather like you to.”

Ran swallowed, a little involuntarily, “then tell me how.”

Crawford raised an eyebrow at that, but then realised Ran was seeking instruction, it wasn’t that he was deliberately doing this, but that he simply had no effect how. “I have a better idea,” Crawford said quietly, “why don’t you do what I do.” 

He undid his pants efficiently and then pressed Ran’s hand inside. At first Ran was nervous and then as Crawford’s own hand closed about Ran’s erection. Ran’s nervousness charmed Crawford even as he leaned in for a kiss, moving his hips so he got some friction.

“Not here,” Ran gasped against his mouth, even as he pressed his own hips harder into Crawford’s hand.

“Yes,” Crawford growled, “here.” He kissed Ran savagely; knowing that the boy wouldn’t mind, that he could do what he liked and Ran would enjoy it. Ran met the onslaught of his tongue with his own. Since their marriage the boy had learned to kiss. Kisses silenced his protests as the hand in his groin rubbed the fight from him. Crawford could barely think against Ran’s chill white fingers, clumsy and careless but trying. Crawford felt the tension in Ran’s shoulder’s vanish and he resisted the urge to just turn Ran unto his front on the desk and fuck him raw.

But Ran had asked, in fact Ran had offered.

He picked Ran up, sliding his hand from his erection to cup his ass, squeezing for measure as he carried him to the couch, as much as he wanted to christen the desk Ran couldn’t do what he wanted him to from that vantage point.

He missed the couch by a few inches and Ran sank to the floor and took him with him unto the rich wool rug. He shirked off his shirt, careless of where it landed as long as he didn’t lose contact with Ran’s skin, with Ran’s mouth. 

Despite learning so much from Crawford the boy was still charmingly naive.

Crawford pulled back from the kiss with a gasp as Ran slipped his free hand into Crawford’s hair, pulling it loose even as his palm rubbed, gently against Crawford’s cock. He was pulling on his hair and his cock with the same easy pressure, and Crawford thought, or possibly hoped, he’d go mad.

“Turn around,” Crawford gasped. Ran just pouted and bit his lip. He obviously did not understand. “Just stay there.” He said, shimmying out of his pants. Then he turned around so his head was over Ran’s cock, tugging down the trousers as he balanced himself precariously on his knees and elbows.

“You’re too big,” Ran protested, “I can’t reach,” he said, the boy was learning fast. “I think I need to be on top.”

Crawford could see the advantage to that, he had several inches on Ran in reach and they rolled so that Ran was the one on his hands and knees. “Just,” Crawford gasped, Ran’s red curls could drive any man mad, “do what I do,” and then he swallowed him down.

At first Ran was nervous, he reached out with his tongue in a tentative lick and Crawford lost all ability to think, he suckled, he pulled, he did everything in his power to make Ran touch him, but Ran was taking this at his own pace, his pants half pulled off and gathered about his ankles. His tongue was maddening, light and flickering over the veins and ridges, prodding at the head.

Crawford just groaned and tried his best to show Ran how. Ran just wiggled his thin hips and carried on as before. Then somehow he seemed to get it; his fingers were at Crawford’s balls, light, almost touches, and little feathery things. Crawford moaned and swallowed Ran down as far as he could, then Ran pulled back and looked up at him with a smile. He wiped his mouth with the side of his hand and then changed his angle. He reached forward and took the head of Crawford’s cock in his mouth.

Crawford cried out then, because how could he not, and then because in the position Ran was in he couldn’t reciprocate, he sucked his fingers into his mouth making sure that they were good and wet. He wouldn’t stop Ran because it was heavenly and hellish all at the same time. He was balancing himself by laying his arms against Crawford’s thighs so he couldn’t thrust, but it didn’t matter because he was learning and it was so good.

He began to run his fingers the length of Ran’s cleft and watched Ran’s back arch, and then slipped one fingertip inside. He used his other hand, curved around the boy’s hip, to pull him down and traced his finger with his tongue. Ran couldn’t help the reaction as he arched, his mouth pulling away from Crawford’s cock as he gave into a touch he had never known. Crawford found it unbelievably sexy. His back formed an almost perfect c as he gave himself over to his mouth, his tongue and that darting finger. “Ah, aah, ahh,” he gasped and it was the most he’d said in sex since they’d start, “but,” he managed, “oh.” 

Ran was normally silent through sex and these new sounds were maddening. He rolled Ran unto his back and slipped two fingers deep inside him. Normally when he and Ran had sex he made sure that Ran was on top so that he couldn’t hurt him but he wanted more.

Ran looked delightfully lost as he wrapped his arms about Crawford’s shoulders and pulled him down. “Please,” he whimpered, “please.”

It was all the permission Crawford needed; he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock, and pushed inside. Ran raised his hips so he could push deeper, though there must have been a little pain, as he wasn’t properly stretched. Ran didn’t seem to care.

He rode Ran as hard as he wanted to and listened to the grunts and the whimpers. Then he pulled out, “on your knees,” he said wondering how he still managed to speak, he wanted. Ran blinked, his eyes were misty drunk on lust, but then he rolled over unto his forearms and knees and Crawford pushed inside again. The angle was different as Crawford wrapped his arm about his stomach and pulled him up so his back was against his chest and pulled him up and pushed him down, kissing and biting at his throat and grunting as he rode the boy sat on him.

He came so hard it was a wonder he didn’t black out.

 

Crawford eventually sent a gift of thanks to the Lady Redgrove for her thoughtful gift.

(ii)

The years passed with a strange slowness in Herensea. Ran barely noticed their passing except that he discovered he did not like to spend winter nights alone, and that they passed much easier if he was in bed with Crawford. 

He obeyed Crawford’s rule that he never leave the citadel without ever questioning why. Everything he wanted was delivered for him if he simply asked. 

Under the library of Lady Redgrove, who wrote him charming and witty letters, he was learning everything he wanted to know about pleasing Crawford, even if sometimes, when he opened one of the books, he still found his head tilting to better understand the illustration. Then he would sit in Crawford’s bed and between them they would either laugh at the illustrations, because sometimes it was all you could do with them, and sometimes Ran found himself with his face pressed up against the wall and his legs spread as Crawford attempted something in the book, which often weren’t as difficult as they looked.

From his window he watched the world pass him by and what surprised him most was the detail that he simply did not care, Crawford took care of all his needs, even those he had never known he had. Crawford kept him in books, in clothes, in sweets and Crawford loved him. Ran decided that was all he ever needed to know, that that was all he ever wanted.


	11. Chapter 11

(i)  
The battle of Inabayama, if it could be called such, took three days in all.

On the first day, in a show of uncharacteristic warmth the king offered a flag of parley to the Nemesis inviting him into their home so they could talk terms because other states had negotiated a viceroyship.

The Nemesis brought with him his oldest two sons, his youngest he left at camp with the hordes of his army.

At a lush dinner of exquisitely prepared fish the king of Inabayama poisoned all ten members of the Nemesis’ party.

Then, though they had terrible misgivings about the whole thing, the Heaven Guard threw the bodies from the walls of the city hung by ropes so they dangled like obscene flags.

 

On the second day the forces of the Nemesis remained firm about the city, they didn’t move and it seemed that they might be mourning.

The Heaven Guard had terrible misgivings about this and began to move the children and infirm from the city via boats. Their captain even sent a note to the forces of the Nemesis that this was what they were doing, that the boats were full of refugees and were no harm to the invaders in the hope that they wouldn’t be attacked.

Any that left on the second day weren’t.

 

On the third day with dawn the forces of the Nemesis, who remained in his tent the whole time, being the youngest son left behind, smashed Inabayama. They slaughtered everyone they could find.

The King of Inabayama was executed by use of the handsaw. [1]

Most of his nobles were executed on sky wheels [2]; the ladies were hung. The children were taken as slaves.

The endless towers of Inabayama were pulled down. The shrine of the goddess was befouled.

But there was no rape, for the forces of the Nemesis were disciplined.

By the end of the third day the Nemesis declared that Inabayama no longer existed, that for the treachery of their king that it would forthwith be called Daryiia, after his father’s widow.

 

Word reached Crawford at Herensea three weeks later. He decided to withhold the information from his lovely young bride, who at nineteen had grown indeed beautiful and although he should have known better Crawford was convinced that Ran only stayed with him out of a sense of duty to Inabayama. He believed, erroneously perhaps, that without Inabayama that Ran would leave him.

He started reading his mail before him, to keep the secret.

(ii)

Schuldig had arranged an appointment with Crawford, a recent upsurge in crime meant that although Crawford honoured the appointment he did so in his official capacity amongst the torturers and their devices as a gentleman was stretched on the bock. [2]

Schuldig, though his attention was drawn to the man whimpering in the corner, did his best to keep his focus on Crawford.

“What is it you wanted?” Crawford asked as he signed off on forms, he had two offices the one in the citadel and this one where he could watch his torturers work. In the corner Farfarello was testing leather straps in his hands to decide which one to use.

“I wanted to talk to you about Ran.” Schuldig said.

“Why, is he unwell?” Crawford sounded worried.

“No, I think you should tell him, he’s strong, but he needs to know.” Schuldig said, sitting on what he hoped was a chair, as it had no spikes or straps he was assuming it was, but there was room for interpretation in these rooms. “Inabayama was his home, and the Nemesis killed his parents.” Schuldig took a deep breath because Crawford was glaring at him. He was wearing a pair of eyeglasses that he had had made which made his glare even steelier. [4]

“Are you, Schuldig, presuming, how to tell me to treat my own bride?” His voice was ice cold.

“No,” Schuldig said looking around the room, “it’s just that he needs to mourn them. Ran is, really,” he stopped, “still a child, he’s only just got into a position where he can accept the death of his sister, it’s cruel not to tell him. I’m not saying that it won’t hurt him, but.”

“But what, Schuldig?” Crawford pressed.

“If you’re there you can manage the backlash, just like you did before.” Schuldig lowered his eyes. “Ran adores you, he would do anything to please you, it will break his heart if he finds out you didn’t tell him.”

“I have no intention of telling him, in fact, if not for his parents it would have nothing to do with him. He is a citizen of Eressea now, and for four years Herensea has been his home.” Crawford snarled out.

“But he was born in Inabayama,” Schuldig said, “Even Yohji is in mourning,” he said, “I am not from Inabayama but it was home to me and I feel it’s lack,” He wanted to pace, it was important that Crawford understand this but he was being stubborn. “They tore down the towers, Crawford, he’s a Fujimiya and their family motto might as well be that they will serve Inabayama, he is the last of them, at least let him mourn.”

“It’s murder to see him cry.” Crawford said quietly. Then he took a deep breath, “Ran married me because he is a Fujimiya and they do their duty by Inabayama. If Inabayama is no more then why should he do his duty.”

“Because he loves you.” Schuldig said.

“There is nothing of that between us.” Crawford said. “Our marriage was politically expedient and we have both made the best of it.” But Schuldig knew he was lying, even if it was to himself.

 

(iii)

Ran opened the parcel of books that Lady Redgrove had sent him. The first of them was a collection of folk tales of Eressea that she had had written for him. He flicked through it for the tale of Tsukihime and discovered it was in a collection of seven tales called “The Cloths of Heaven,” he rang the bell and asked for some tea as he sat down in front of the fire to read the book of fairy tales.

For a long time he stared at the illustration of the seven maidens with their shawls, each was lovely and lush in a way that he didn’t appreciate in women, but Birman had spared no expense and these were colour plates. Rather than having all seven maidens together they each had a strip panel of their own, illustrated in different colours. 

Taiyohime, or the princess of the sun, was first, she wore flowing golden chiffon and her hair streamed behind her in swirls and twists.

Tsukihime wore white, with her hair in twin braids twisted around the arms she had over her head.

Hoshihime, the star princess, wore shimmering silver in laid with rich dark black, her hair was in twin knots at the side of her head.

Yamahime, the mountain princess, wore dark rich red, the colour of clay, and her hands were on her hips and her hair was caught under her shawl but loose strands of it fell about her lovely face.

Amanoharahime, the sky princess, wore grey, which was wrapped like clouds about her nakedness.

Barahime, the rose princess, wore pink frills and was leaned forward, her hair, like that of the sun princess was down and she stretched her shawl between her hands like a scroll.

Kaihime, the sea princess, wore rich dark green lace and one leg was bared, she held a sea anemone to her face.

Ran couldn’t help but stare at her, this was the woman he had seen that day on the beach. He recited the words to himself as he looked at the seven maidens, trying to remember what came next.

“One for sorrow, two for mirth  
Three for a death and four for a birth  
Five for silver and six for gold,  
And seven for a heart that’s been lost to the cold.”

There were seven on the page; he had seen three in his dream the night that Aya had died. He shook off the reverie; these weren’t the piskies even if the illustration of Kaihime was eerily similar and even if they all had the rich dark green hair and violet eyes the same as his own. He was wrong.

He put the book down and lifted the second.

Over the years there had been fifteen books about the forbidden love of Alaric and Celabrien and because it was difficult getting them in Herensea in his long letters to Birman and they exchanged parcels. She had been reading them too, it seemed, and she would send them to him once they were finished. Often he would find cute little notes pressed between the pages where she had written down her opinions on such a scene, and she was of the opinion that if Celabrien were a real woman she would have left Alaric nearly eight books ago. They always made Ran smile; although he had never met the Lady Birman Redgrove he considered her one of his closest friends.

He pulled his legs up on the oversized chair and nestled his tea on the table and opened the page to read.

 

An hour later the book was thrown across the room and he was crouched snarling in the corner as Yohji tried to calm him. He was throwing things at his champion. It was only later, when the dust had settled on the inevitable firestorm that they realised the book dealt with the fall of Inabayama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The handsaw, it sounds so less ominous than it is, those of you who are even vaguely squeamish turn away now, go back to the chapter, I’ll understand.  
> Those of you who don’t believe me…  
> The handsaw is a long sheet of serrated metal much like one that lumberjacks use to be used by two people.  
> Still with me?  
> The victim is hung by his ankles in a Y position and the saw starts at the genitals and works down.  
> The gory one at the back who’s still there, this is where I freak you out…  
> Because the victim is upside down they don’t pass out, they are usually aware throughout the whole procedure until they bleed out and their heart is either punctured or explodes.  
> I don’t like Takatori, and Aya doesn’t get to kill him here so I thought I’d make it truly grim. This was the only instrument in the Prague torture museum that freaked me out (they have one on the wall) and I knew it would come in handy.  
> 2\. The sky wheel is a cartwheel on a long pole which was spun as rocks and things were thrown, it’s a get the people involved kind of punishment, it’s very similar to the wheel where the victim was spun and hit with sticks. St Catherine was killed like this – hence the Catherine Wheel.  
> 3.The bock isn’t as bad as either the sky wheel or the handsaw. It’s a large wooden pyramid on a stand, probably about a metre square, and the point is about head height, and the victim is suspended over the point and gravity does it’s work. To make it slightly grimmer it is inserted into an orifice first. So over time the victim slides down unto the point, which opens them up more. This is not an execution device and was used, historically, on both men and women.  
> 4\. There are records of glasses as far back as the c11,


	12. Chapter 12

(i)

Ran bathed silently and carefully, making sure to use the calla oil that Crawford liked the smell of. He dressed in a loose flowing and slightly transparent robe that Lady Redgrove had given him. His hair had, in the intervening years, grown down to his knees and he normally wore it in a tight braid but tonight he wore it down making sure that his bangs covered his velvet eyes because otherwise Crawford might notice.

With a deep breath he hung the golden pendant that symbolised his marriage from his ear. Then he raised his head and faked a smile, he would do his duty by Inabayama because, after all, he was a Fujimiya and they lived and died by their duty.

 

Crawford looked up from his reports when Ran came in and offered him a smile. “You’re here early,” he said.

Ran’s voice had broken into a rich deep baritone, and if Crawford missing the boyish soprano he never said. “I wanted to,” Ran said moving across, “I wanted this.” He said and sighed. “I was lonely without you.” He made himself sound almost lost and forlorn, “I was bored and I’d rather spend my time with you.” 

If Crawford questioned it he didn’t say, instead he opened his arms to his bride and offering a small smile Ran took the invitation and sat on Crawford’s knee as he once had when he was smaller, he was no longer such a snug fit. “That colour looks amazing on you,” Crawford said fingering the rich green chiffon and lace, “it makes your skin pearlescent and your hair shine.” He ran his fingers through the hair about Ran’s face, “you must be feeling lonely if you’re wearing this down.”

“I had a bad dream,” Ran said, “and then I read some books that Lady Redgrove sent me, and I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I bathed to while away the time but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Crawford kissed Ran’s neck underneath the earring before tugging the pendant between his teeth, he knew what kind of books the Lady Redgrove sent Ran, and he was torn between arranging some form of painful death for her and shaking her firmly by the hand.

Ran smelt sweetly of orchids and soap, it was addictive and Crawford couldn’t help but kiss the skin. The calla oil was another of the Lady Redgrove’s gifts and it made Ran’s skin as soft as velvet. What never failed to amaze Crawford was that Ran had struck up an incredibly unlikely friendship with the woman who was as different from him as could be, she was a known sybarite with a harem of young boys almost dying to please her, and Ran was a naïf, but she had never, in any way, attempted to be anything other than his friend.  
Ran’s fingertips were chilly against his warm neck; rubbing against a half-day’s stubble with a strange fascination. He seemed to love the feel of it, but he was cold despite the spring weather. “I want you,” Ran said, “please.”

So, Crawford thought to himself, there were things he had learnt from Lady Redgrove.

Crawford nodded, then picked Ran up as easily as he had when they first met and carried him through the double doors to his bedroom where he laid the boy, no he was a man now but still as lovely, down. The bedding was white and Ran’s dark green robe and long red hair looked lovely spread out on it and the pallor of his skin made his eyes darkly luminous.

“Love me,” Ran murmured, “please, just love me.” So Crawford did.

When he lowered his mouth to Ran’s neck, usually something that made him squirm Ran pushed him away, “let me,” he said and then with an uncharacteristic show of force flipped them over so that he was straddling Crawford’s hips, then with gentle touches that seemed uniquely his own Ran began to undress him.

If Crawford suspected that there was anything other than passion to this encounter Ran’s mouth convinced him otherwise. Ran was more determined than Crawford had ever seen him, suckling on his Adams apple and his hands stroking his sides as he squirmed and wriggled against Crawford’s growing erection in a way that made Crawford want to flip over and take control back, but Ran obviously wanted this.

Ran’s hands were warming against his skin, pushing up against his ribcage in a way that was innocently sexy, then one of the hands was pressing against his nipples with soft touches as the other undid his shirt. “I want this,” Ran said running the tip of his tongue around the shell of Crawford’s ear. “Just let me.” So Crawford did.  
His hands were deft and true, and his mouth was madness, “close your eyes,” Ran told him.

“I like to watch,” Crawford said, “because you’re so beautiful.” For an instant a frown formed on Ran’s face but then melted away again, so that Crawford was convinced he had made a mistake. 

“Please,” Ran said, “I can’t do this if you’re looking at me.” 

It wasn’t like Ran to beg so Crawford closed his eyes. It should have served as a warning, but it didn’t. Crawford just gave himself over to the man’s hands and mouth. Ran was, at eighteen, a towering beauty but still as shy and naive as he had been that first time. He would touch to see if the touch was receptive and then touch again when he found that it was.

Because his eyes were closed Crawford couldn’t see that Ran was crying. When the wetness fell on his skin he just assumed it was Ran’s mouth.

Ran was making arcane designs, tracing alchemic symbols over his skin. There was not an inch of Crawford he left untouched. He said nothing but used his tongue and his teeth to say what he wanted to say until Crawford didn’t care any more.

He rubbed oil over his stomach and ran his nails through the thin line of hair there’ he pressed his face, catlike, into the curls on his chest taking a deep breath of Crawford’s masculine scent, and when he took Crawford into his mouth it was with a sound that was almost a sob.

Crawford assumed he had gagged a little and did his very best not to thrust into the inviting heat. When he came he saw stars.

Yet when Ran guided him into the heat of his body he turned them so Crawford was over him. He had always preferred it like that, with Crawford pressing him into the mattress, but his kisses were more demanding than usual, “more,” he whispered in Crawford’s ear, “more.” So Crawford obliged him. Again and again and again.

 

When Crawford awoke Ran was gone. He stretched out languorously across the bed thinking that Ran must have gone to bathe; they had been quite rampant that night and Crawford smiled to himself in memory. It wasn’t like Ran to be so needy, but he had enjoyed it and his limbs were heavy with satiation, in fact, he thought turning over and smelling the heavy sex smell in the sheets, he might just go back to sleep. 

It wasn’t until late that evening when Yohji asked him when Ran would be set free from their little love nest that Crawford realised that there might be a problem. The citadel was searched but no sign of him was found.

The next day a boy came forward out of the city and handed Crawford a carefully folded note and a single pendant earring. The note simply read “don’t try to find me, I must do my duty for Inabayama, I am no longer your Ran, I am a Fujimiya and we do our duty.”

Crawford tore the city apart looking for him but again no sign was found, he checked with the gatekeepers who diligently kept a record of anyone who passed and none of the records gave the name Ran, but a ferryman across the lake spoke of a beautiful boy with skin like porcelain though his hair was short, he had given his name as Aya but his destination, when asked out of a sense of curiosity, he had simply answered coldly, home.

 

(ii)

“How did you think he was going to react?” Schuldig snarled Crawford, “you lied to him, you betrayed him, he found out from a cheap novel months after it happened.” They had found the novel later, open to that page and placed face down on the table. It had described the fall of Inabayama in terms the author hadn’t needed to embellish. Crawford had sent out his best huntsmen but was now waiting for their return.

“Maybe he’s just checking it’s true.” Yohji suggested, “Those books have been wrong before.”

“The Lady Redgrove did this.” Crawford snarled, wanting terribly to take his rage out on anyone. “He’s all alone, defenceless what can he do.”

Yohji tilted a golden eyebrow, “he’s not defenceless, he’s a trained member of the Heaven Guard, he’s been trained for it all his life, just because he married you doesn’t mean he stopped, there is a sword missing from the armoury.” He should be with Ran, if Ran had said he would have gone with him to protect him, his duty was to Ran and not to Crawford. If Ran had not wanted to return he would have honoured that decision.

“You lied to him,” Schuldig repeated, “you deliberately kept it from him when you should have told him so he could mourn.”

“What business is it of yours?” Crawford shouted, standing up and leaning on the table that separated them, “you’re not his champion and you’re not his husband.”

“No,” Schuldig said, “but I have been his friend for five years, can you say the same, or were you too busy fucking him to actually care?”

Crawford punched him. “Don’t you dare speak to me about him like that.” He snarled.

“Crawford,” Farfarello said from the door, “the huntsmen have returned.” He said, “there’s no sign of him, they don’t know enough, which direction did he go in, he could have doubled back, he might have bought a horse.”

“Farfarello,” he said quietly, “kill them, then arrange for our return to Eressea, the Prince Mamoru is still in my household, is he not?”

“Yes, he is.” Farfarello told him. “Then we have the king of Inabayama under our control. We can use that, leave men here so if Ran returns he is returned to me.”

“What are you going to do?” Yohij asked, horrified that Crawford could be so callous.

“I’m going to bring war to the Nemesis.” He answered calmly. “The Nemesis stole my bride, and I will destroy him for it.”

“Ran left you because you lied to him.” Schuldig repeated, “you kept secrets that were bang out of order.”

Crawford’s glare was icy. “Your duty is to Prince Mamoru now, will you serve him?” He asked.

Schuldig said nothing, but he was a member of the Heaven Guard, he would serve his king.


	13. Chapter 13

(i)

Ken looked at the report of the new janissary brought in, scanning each of the names carefully. Then he called up Kase, the man who had brought this batch in, “any of them worth noting?”

“Aya can read.” Kase told him, sitting back in the chair.

“Which one’s that?” Ken said looking over the crowd as they were stood on the docks underneath the window of his office. 

“The one with the braid.” Ken looked over them, “the redhead.” Kase continued.

Ken pursed his lips and then licked them thinking, then marked a large S on the form next to Aya’s name. She would do well in the Seraglio, the girl was strikingly beautiful with long wine dark red hair and the eyes, he couldn’t see from here were a light colour. It wasn’t as if most of the girls in the Seraglio did much anyway, but look pretty when traipsed out for state functions. Nevertheless every now and then there was a gem in the fold; the Nemesis noticed all of them, eventually. “Any others?” He asked.

“That’s the only one with any kind of education, even read to some of the others on the journey, one of the littler ones was kinda nervous, Aya took him in hand.” Ken looked at him, “well, looked after him, and didn’t literally take him in hand.”

“What’s the name, Kase?”

“Yuki,” Kase said, checking it on the roster, “he’s the squinting lad with the greenish tinge to his hair.” Ken looked out over then, at the way that he stood slightly behind Aya, and then marked the form down with the S as well. He gave the crowd a quick and rather cursory look over and decided there was no one else worth the Seraglio. 

“Any of them as dumb as that chap in the last batch?” Ken asked. They had eventually given him up as too stupid to teach, and sent him out to the fields. “None of them are particularly interesting, but there was some Esset interest in Aya.”

“I can see why,” Ken said with a bit of a harmless leer. 

“We caught Aya right on the border, Esset is just looking for an excuse, you might want to bear that in mind, I’ve put it on his file.” 

Ken nodded and wrote “possible problem” next to the giant S.

(ii)

The four ladies of the Mask ran the Seraglio of the Nemesis, each of whom hid their identity behind a highly decorated mask and veil. Of course, as there were only four of them, everyone knew who they were. Hel’s mask was covered in feathers, Ken, in his role of commander of the Janissary, dealt with them more than he would have liked. “The Nemesis wants to speak to you.” She growled, her arms crossed under her breast.

“What about this time?” Ken said. This was not in any way unusual, in fact the two of them got on quite well but Hel could make a polite request for a friendly supper sound like he was about to have you executed.

“Your new entrants to the Seraglio.” Hel said, “Yuki is too young, he’s not legal.”

“He was Aya’s shadow,” Ken said, “Aya was ideally suited for the Seraglio and according to the captain who brought them in she had pretty much adopted him.”

Hel barked out a laugh, “he,” she corrected smugly, “Aya is a he, and that’s the other thing.”

“No,” Ken said rearranging the papers on his desk, ”I have her listed as a she.”

“I’ve seen him naked, Ken,” Hel said with a smirk, “believe me, he’s lovely, but he’s a he, to put underage boys in the Seraglio because a lady has adopted them is one thing, in fact I don’t find it reprehensible in the least, it’s even charming, but a full grown man in the Seraglio is another problem.”

Ken frowned, “with his wife in there,” Ken let out a low whistle through his teeth, “I’m in trouble, aint I?” he asked. Hel nodded, then smiled under her mask. “He’ll forgive you, now the fact that Aya might have to be cut…” She was obviously trying her best not to laugh. 

Ken squirmed in his chair. “It was an honest mistake.” He said, “with a name like Aya and all that hair.”

“We’ve put him in a separate room beside the crèche for the meantime,” Hel said calming her amusement. “But the Nemesis is too busy dealing with the fallout of him being taken to worry about what to do with him.” 

“What do you mean?” Ken asked, “I just check them in.” He rubbed his chin as he thought, “Kase mentioned something about taking him from the border but that he volunteered to save some kid or other.”

Hel rolled her eyes, “the wrong side of the border according to Esset but I just manage the Seraglio it’s not my place to judge.”

“Tell the Nemesis I’ll be along presently,” Ken said, “once I finish everything I can to avoid seeing him.

Hel laughed, “I’ll tell him, word for word.”

“Do that,” Ken said, “he’ll appreciate the laugh if Esset are picking fights with him again.”

(iii)

The Seraglio of the Nemesis was an entire floor of the giant palace that overlooked the bay and Aya was fortunate that he had been given a room from which he could see the sea. The Lake at Herensea was no comparison for the sea, even the rich turquoise sea of Atzara and he had missed it terribly. When the ladies of the Mask ushered him in, whispering amongst themselves about someone called Ken’s stupidity, his first act had been to throw open the windows to the sea and just breathe deeply.

He did miss Herensea, he had been happy there, but he was a Fujimiya and he would do his duty by Inabayama, after an hour wherein he had walked the length of his small room thinking about praying to whatever god had given him this good fortune of being so close to the Nemesis who he had every intention of killing in revenge for his parents and Inabayama, they brought Yuki in to share the room with him.

“He won’t settle,” the youngest lady of the mask, Todt, said as way of explanation, and then the servants, all burly men with golden moustaches and an aversion to shirts, brought in their clothes.

“Do you think that they’ll throw you out of the seraglio now, I mean now that they’ve figured out you’re a man?” Yuki asked quietly, he was very much out of his depth and terrified of everything that was happening. Rather than being shy Yuki was confrontational in his fear and Aya had defended him rather than having him hurt. He reminded him, though he couldn’t have said why, of Naoe.

“I don’t know,” Aya said calmly, he was sat the way that they had taught his sister to sit, perfectly still with his hands in his lap, “I suppose they will, but they put you here with me, they’ll move you to be with me.”

“But,” Yuki protested, “they might have you put to death because you got in here under false pretences.”

“No,” Aya said calmly, “I’m in here because they thought I was a girl.” He said, he was learning to be economical with his words. “It’s their mistake, not mine, whatever the fall out I won’t be punished for it.”

“I’m scared, “ Yuki said, he had come from Inabayama and had seen the horrors there. But he was brave for every one but Aya, Aya would protect him, Aya had protected him, Aya would be there for him. He could be himself with Aya.

“There’s nothing to fear here,” Aya said calmly, “I won’t let anything hurt you.” Yuki offered him a small smile, but then it settled back into his customary frown.

“Excuse me,” a blonde boy said popping his head around the door, “I’m looking for,” he looked at the piece of paper, “Yuki,” he grinned, he was a pretty boy wearing a white sweater that appeared to be made of fluff and a kilt. He had white stockings on that tied up his legs and soft black moccasins. Aya had never seen anyone like him. “I’m Michel, I’m here to make sure you come to lessons, they don’t think you know where they are and well, I’m going too so I said I’d take you, and everyone was like, okay, you can take him Michel, but he’s a bit grumpy, I don’t think you’re grumpy are you?”

“You talk a lot.” Yuki said, rather shocked by the display of verbosity from the child.

“My brother says that too,” Michel continued, “I just have a lot to say and I want to make sure I get it all out, my brother says sometimes he wants to gag me but I don’t think he will, I’ve cleared it with the Ladies of the Mask and Schon says you can come with me, and I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”

Yuki looked back at Aya as if looking for reassurance or possibly help, Aya just nodded. “I’ll make sure everything’s unpacked.” He said, sure that in a fight that Yuki could beat the strange golden haired child.

 

The Seraglio was a warren of tiny rooms set about larger courtyards. Aya noticed his room was nowhere near any of the ladies, with a small smile. It wasn’t like he had any interest in them anyway. He wore the loose robes that they had laid out for him and moved into one of the courtyards to have his tea.

He knelt down before the boiling kettle, making sure the tea was steeping properly. “What are you doing?” The girl behind him asked.

“I’m making tea.” Aya answered, “Would you like some?”

“I’ve never,” she began and then offered him a smile, and he was caught because she looked almost exactly like his sister, “yes, thank you.” She said.

He lifted a bowl for her, “sip it slowly,” he warned, “it’s hot, you’ll scald yourself.”

“I’m Sakura,” she said smiling at him.

“Aya,” he answered calmly, because he had already taken his sister’s place and it was only right he take her name. He would avenge Inabayama but it would be his sister who was remembered for it. “My name is Aya.”

“I hope we can be friends,” the girl said sipping her tea as he had warned her.

“I don’t think that will be possible.” Aya said, “I’m not supposed to be in the Seraglio, they will probably move me soon.”

“Is that because you’re a man?” Sakura asked. Aya nodded, “I don’t think he’ll mind you know, he’s open about that kind of thing.”

“They think I’ll seduce all the ladies here,” Aya told her.

“But that’s silly,” Sakura said, “it’s obvious you like men.” Aya didn’t laugh, even if he had wanted to.

 

Though he didn’t know it at the time Aya was watched through this exchange from the balcony over the courtyard by the Nemesis himself. “He can stay,” he said calmly, “Free,” the Nemesis’ personal manservant bowed his tall head to look at his master, “You are now his personal guard, to protect the ladies, of course.” Free nodded his head in answer but said nothing, “And Neu,” he said to the Lady of the Mask who accompanied him, “Arrange for me a private supper with the man, I think he might have something interesting to say if he can charm my wife in such a quick manner.”

Neu nodded and looked down at the young bride of the Nemesis sit with the young man, laughing, even though he was stony faced. The man was beautiful, she thought to herself, and the Nemesis did collect beautiful things.


	14. Chapter 14

(i)

Aya looked up at the woman who stood in the doorway with a long black kimono embroidered with maple leaves and a golden obi slung over her shoulder. “Lord Chloe wants to have supper with you.” She said, “I am here to dress you.”

“I can dress myself.” Aya said firmly, “are there pants to go with this?” He asked.

“In the closet.” Hel answered calmly, “If you know how to dress yourself, Free is still languishing outside your door, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask for him and he can go back.” Aya told her rather sharply.

“It’s to protect the women, I think, from you, or maybe to protect you from them. Young Miss Sakura seems taken with you.” Hel, like Aya, was not one to mince words.

“She looks like my sister.” Aya said lowering his eyes from her gaze, it was cold and hard. “My sister died, it brings me a measure of peace to deal with her.”

“Sakura says that it is just two friends meeting.” Hel said, “as long as that is all that it is.” She turned, her black hair was gathered in a knot at the back of her head. There was something about her that reminded Aya of Crawford, something he wouldn’t allow himself to think. “I'll send someone to dress your hair, you will want to be beautiful for him, I imagine, much rests on his slim shoulders.”

“I’m only meeting him because I have to.” Aya answered.

“It’s not as if you have anything better to do, I shall send some garnets and amethysts, to bring out your colouring.”

Aya looked at himself in the mirror and with a sigh began to undress in preparation for a supper, he had always taken care of such matters when he met Crawford, he brushed his hair until it shone and dressed in his nicest clothes despite that they had had supper every night. He missed him. He refused to allow himself to dwell on the past, he would do his duty to Inabayama, and if he survived it, maybe then he would go back to Crawford, if he ever forgave him for leaving the way he did. Crawford would not do his duty for him. Crawford hadn’t even told him.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm himself, and then stripped down to his underwear, pulling on the white kimono, then the rich grey pleated pants. “Well,” Mihorogi said coming in with a grin, “isn’t that just the sight, the palest ass in the whole Seraglio I might add.” She leered just a little but Aya knew it was harmless. Mihorogi flirted like that with everyone. “I’ve come to do your hair.” She looked around, “Michel not let Yuki go yet?” She asked. “I’ll make sure to tell him where you are.” She looked at him and then looked at the stool, hinting he sit down. “You know, most of the girls here would kill for your hair.” She began brushing it out, “actually, Ayan,” she had given him that name the instant she had seen him, it seemed there was another Aya somewhere in the maze of the Seraglio, or there had been, and she didn’t want to get them confused in her head, “I’d kill for your hair.” She measured the strands out between her fingers, “what do you use to wash it?”  
“Water and olive soap.” He answered, a bit shocked by the question. 

“I’ll get you some for when you wash it,” she said, “and some almond cream, some of your ends are splitting.” She said a bit firmly, “it might need a trim.” Aya put his hands on his hair, “a trim, Ayan, not cutting. It’s rare for men to have such long hair, was there a particular reason.”

Mihorogi was kind and meant well, he could tell her about Crawford, who had loved it more than Ran did, he could tell her how he had loved him but had been betrayed. Eventually he said, “It’s a way for me to remember.” That was true enough.

She said nothing more as she dressed it, rubbing sweet smelling oil into the braid, “let me help you with your kimono,” she said lifting the heavy black silk, and draping it around his shoulders, then deftly folded it to be held in place with the obi. “Beautiful,” she murmured.

“Don’t use that word.” Aya snapped, then he stopped himself, it wasn’t Mihorogi’s fault, “I’m sorry, someone used to call me beautiful.” 

“As a way to hurt you,” She finished, “but you are.” She corrected. Then she stroked his face with a cold hand, “Chloe’s a good man,” she said, “he’s funny and charming, and I think he just wants to know how anyone can put up with Sakura.”

“She looks like my sister.” Aya told her honestly.

“Be yourself with him,” Mihorogi said with a smile, “that’s all, and eat, you’re too thin.”

Aya thought he should offer her a smile, but it had died with Inabayama.

(ii)

When Aya had met Crawford for his late suppers he had always been a little nervous, even if he knew there was no reason for him to be. With Chloe he felt none of that. The whole thing was completely relaxed. Chloe had sat in a huge cushion in front of a small table laden high with wine and finger foods. 

His conversation had been witty and charming, his eyes sparkling with humour and mischief. He had been beautiful. Aya had not expected that.

The wine had been free flowing, and he supposed he got a little drunk, but Chloe had been witty and charming, and when their lips met it seemed inevitable. When he had lain with Crawford there was control and passion, he and Chloe had fallen upon each other like it was it had always happened like this between them.

He was drunk, he assumed that was why he had undressed Chloe with a passion he had never given to Crawford, he wanted this, and he didn’t know why. Crawford’s kisses had burned like fire, but Chloe’s were like light against his skin.

There was no oil or they would have consummated their meeting with laughs and grunts, because with Chloe there was laughter.

Later, as Aya collected his thoughts as he pulled his robes about himself, “I,” he said, “I belong to the Nemesis.” He said, “I’m in the Seraglio, this shouldn’t have happened.”

Chloe just laughed, “I really don’t think he’ll mind,” he looked beautiful, sprawled amongst the cushions, “he can take it out on me,” he was smirking, “will you go riding with me tomorrow?” He asked, “if you won’t stay the night.”

“I,” Aya began, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” And it was true, whatever this feeling that burned in his chest for Chloe he wanted to protect him.

“You won’t,” Chloe assured him, “believe me,” he added with a smirk, “I can send free to look after the little one, I’d,” he sat up, his skin was golden in the candlelight, “I’d like it if you stayed.”

Aya let out his breath slowly letting the robe fall about his feet. “I’d like to.” He said.

 

Over the following weeks the two of them were basically inseparable. They talked about everything, which Aya found fascinating, what they didn’t have in common they could agree to disagree on. The palace had a large conservatory attached to the side and they were walking through the plants when Chloe mentioned the Sir Alaric books with a laugh.  
They were both fans but what amazed Aya was that Chloe had actually met the famed Lady Celabrien and discovered that she wasn’t that pretty really. They had laughed at that, and what shocked Aya was that he didn’t have to fake it.

“I want to swim in the sea,” Aya said offering Chloe a half smile.

“But you didn’t bring anything to bathe in.” Chloe said.

“I know.” Aya told him with a smile. Then he smirked. Chloe blinked for a moment then realised what Aya was telling him, “I think I’ll join you.” He said.

The water was cold but Aya was impish and Chloe knew that no matter what that he wanted Aya to be with him forever.


	15. Chapter 15

(i)

There was a golden age in the corridors of Atzara even as war was spoken of in deep corners. The ladies of the Mask were often more flustered than usual and there was a sense of apathy about the Seraglio but it was clear to everyone that the Nemesis was in love.

He ordered festivals on an ad hoc basis just to show off his new love in the fabulous fabrics he ordered from all over his empire. He dressed him in jewels and lived for his small smiles.

 

The festival of Atzara was the highlight of the year in which the Nemesis threw a golden ring from the edge of the pier to renew the marriage of Atzara and the sea.

Aya watched the crowd from the Seraglio watching over Yuki who had caught a fever. He didn’t understand this patriotism that the people displayed for the Nemesis, he would kill him, it was that simple. He didn’t think he would survive it, but he had done what he had done to avenge Inabayama but in his head the festival outside the palace was the festival of flowers in Inabayama where the streets were lined with rose petals and the maidens of the city danced through the streets to the music that played. He remembered the sweet crushed ice and watching as Aya danced the day away in shoes made of satin and her silvery laughter.

But Aya was dead and the Nemesis had crushed Inabayama, the endless towers had been pulled down and the fields sown with salt.

He raised his head letting out the breath he had been holding slowly to calm himself, and looked at Yuki, sprawled on the bed with a cool cloth over his eyes. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hel said from the doorway, “if you want to catch the rest of the festival,” her voice was soft, and fond, “I think Chloe would like that.”

Aya shook his head, Ran would have jumped at the opportunity but Aya couldn’t be that close to the Nemesis without trying to kill him, and in such crowds it wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t get close to him.

The part of him that burned for revenge wanted to use Chloe to get to the Nemesis but Chloe was sweet and good, proud and beautiful and Aya, though he might want to deny it, probably loved him, he wouldn’t betray Chloe. He would find another way.

“It’s not too late to join them, you know, and Free can get you through the worst of the crowds.” Hel served the Nemesis, he reminded himself coldly, and it served his interests to keep his nobles happy.

“I think Free is enjoying the quiet time.” Aya said, referring to the seven foot tall man that sat outside his door making castles with his cards and glaring at any one who came too close, except the ladies of the mask and Mihorogi, who Aya discovered should have worn a mask for the work she did in the Seraglio.

Hel laughed, “he cut down a terrible intruder to the Seraglio yesterday,” she said with a mocking smile, “cut him down in two with The masked lady,” she said referring to the card with which he had bisected the intruder, “the poor bluebottle never knew what hit him.” Aya offered her a dry laugh, “very few men are even allowed in the Seraglio and Free is making sure that that is upheld, even to unknowing insects.” Then she sat down in the chair and faced him, “truth be told, I think Free killed that fly for something to do, he just trails along behind you and Chloe and plays with his cards, has he read your fortune yet?” Aya shook his head, “then you’re the only one in the entire Seraglio.” She continued, “go for a ride, go do something, I’ll look after Yuki, even if you don’t want to enjoy the festival, you are Chloe’s favourite, you can come and go as you wish, why don’t you go shopping, before Free rebuilds Atzara in cards.” 

He understood a dismissal when he heard one. “Besides, you’re too pale, you need some sun.” She said tilting her head with a smile, “Mihorogi said that you dropping your pants is like the moon coming out, and our Chloe is as golden as the sun, a little sun won’t do you any harm.”

Aya rolled his eyes giving in to the order, “I’ll get Free, but make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.”

Hel’s expression softened behind the mask, “you want us all to think that you’re heartless,” she said, “but you’re not, and we know that, and that is why we love you, Aya.” 

Aya’s expression became hard at that, “I’m not worthy of your love,” he said, “I’d rather you hated me.” He sighed, “I’m not that kind of person, Hel, I don’t deserve to be loved.”  
Hel didn’t have an answer for that, so she said nothing.

 

(ii)

The streets of Atzara were bustling with crowds and Aya, who was tall, was overshadowed by Free, who wore the simple black livery of the Nemesis, and although Aya wore a veil over his hair, by order of the Ladies of the Mask, and everyone cleared out of their way. They were both quiet by nature so the walk was made in silence, up the hill to the Cathedral of Falling stars and the small tearoom that faced it. According to Schon it was the best tearoom in the city.

He sat down at one of the tables with Free facing him, barely fitting under the table, he was tall and thin with a shock of white hair and three perpendicular black tattoos on his cheeks. It seemed he was known about the town. “Why do they call you Free?” Aya asked as they waited for their tea, the window of the small tearoom overlooked the sea, where it beat upon the rocks below in a steady rhythm and explosion of froth. 

“It is a title,” Free answered, his voice deep and rumbling, then there was a silence, and Aya realised he would need to press for more answer than that.

“Where does it come from? I mean, it’s very unusual.”

“My ancestor, when he was taken as Janissary it was the only thing he would give his name as, he became a respected bodyguard but when they asked him who he was he would answer “Free,” so as each of us has grown we become Free.” The voice was a steady rumble and Aya suspected it was the most he had heard him speak. Then he leant forward, he was sat like a goblin, his knees almost beside his ears as he tried to fit on the chair, “If we are being so honest with each other, why are you Aya? it is not your name, that much is clear.”

“What makes you say that?” Aya asked, calmly, moving the whisk in his hands in a way that betrayed his anxiety.

“Because you call out the name in your sleep.” Free answered, “Chloe asked me for some more information on you but I will not betray your confidence.” Free’s eyes were an almost acid green and fixed on Aya, “I ask only for my own curiosity.”

“Your loyalty is to Chloe.” Aya said, trying to avoid the subject at hand, which was clearly making him uncomfortable. 

“No,” Free said, “I am Free.” And that was all the answer he would give.

The lady bringing them tea interrupted any further conversation, “not at the festival, a pair of pretty boys like you, why all the young girls are down watching his lordship, he’s a good man, his lordship.” Aya never failed to be astounded by the level to which the people of Atzara loved the Nemesis, did they not know the horrors he was capable of? “Of course with his lordship looking his very best I can see why such handsome young men would want to be away, why I’ve heard,” she leant in close to whisper it, “that he’s got himself a young man.” Free did not lose his composure one bit, he remained stony faced but there was something in his gaze which struck Aya as being amused by that remark. “But I’m not one to gossip, now I’ll get you some pastries to go with your tea and leave you two alone, I imagine you’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

They shared their tea in silence.

 

The city of Atzara was built around a small and well-protected cove, which sheltered a small harbour; it was, in Aya’s opinion a bit of an exaggeration to call it a city. It was a citadel certainly, but could fit into a corner of Eressea. It was three streets that stretched from the beach to the citadel, which spiralled up around a hill to a tower from which they could defend the harbour.

The street vendors took advantage of two of the streets leading up to the stairs of the citadel where most of the nobles lived, in contrast the palace was up a hill on the opposite side of the hill, a sprawling mass of walls and gates with fretwork screens that overlooked the cove. 

Aya supposed in another time and place he might have loved Atzara. Instead he found himself in a place that represented all he had lost with sandstone and banners, with people dressed for festival and trying to press worthless souvenirs in his hands in exchange for money, but backing off as Free glared at them. There were things in Atzara that the past few months had shown him he could love, but instead he found numbness in his chest that sometimes ached and sometimes he felt nothing.

He felt a concern for Yuki that was almost, but not quite, what he felt for Omi, but Michel, had wormed his way into Aya’s affections with a no prisoner’s attitude, which was something to behold. He had even found himself sitting by Yuki’s bed, into which Michel had ingratiated himself much the way Omi had once done to Naoe, reading them the tales of the valour of Sir Alaric just as he had once before. But Michel was not Naoe, and Yuki was not Omi, and despite himself Aya couldn’t do any more than be concerned for them.  
Chloe was another matter however.

Chloe was a dandy. He spent hours on his clothes. He drank water from crystal goblets just because he could. Beautiful tapestries surrounded him. He wore an obscene amount of bracelets on his right arm, all chinking slightly when Chloe touched him. His clothes were silk and cut differently from everyone else in the entire palace. He tended a rose garden. He teased both Yuki and Michel with jokes they were too young to understand and accepted Free’s wry comments with a golden smile.

Everything about Chloe was golden and summer.

When Aya had seen him the previous night for a light and rather intimate supper he had been wearing black silk shot through with a white pinstripe and leather gloves embossed with roses that stopped just short of his wrists. He had been wearing a smile like a crown as he watched Aya eat the oysters he had ordered for them, and the thick rich red wine.  
Chloe made things complicated.

Chloe would take the brunt of harbouring Aya once he killed the Nemesis, Aya would die in the attempt he knew that. It was Chloe who had sent Free to protect him. It was Chloe who had preserved Aya’s position in the Seraglio.

It was Chloe that he didn’t want to leave behind.

Death would make things simple again, he was the last of Inabayama, the last of the Fujimiya, and he would die avenging it.

“You seem deep in thought.” Free said calmly, he seemed to have two modes of expression, calm and wry.

“I was just thinking,” Aya said quietly back, one of the things he liked about Free was that he knew when to be quiet and when to ask questions so he didn’t press the matter.  
When everything was solved, Chloe would be the one to be blamed. Aya was not happy with that. He was trying to think of an alternative, but one would not present itself. He would kill the Nemesis, his own death mattered little to him.

“Free,” he said quietly, “could we buy some paper and pens, I want to write a letter.”

Before, when he had been Ran, when things were confused he wrote to the Lady Redgrove, she would understand, even if the letter was burned in the fireplace of the Seraglio, as it would be, but she would make sense of the avalanche of emotions, she would understand why he had to do what he had to do, even though he would die, Yuki would probably be executed, publicly and terribly, in a way that would have made Farfarello proud. He wanted to send him away, to send him to Eressea, to Crawford who would protect him, but he couldn’t. Yuki was a janissary- a slave. He wanted to write to Crawford and tell him he was sorry, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t wanted to betray Crawford but everything happened so quickly with Chloe, so inevitably. 

“You’re frowning.” Free said from his side as he guided him into the paper shop. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

“No,” Aya said, “There’s nothing.” And then the numbness descended like a mist over him.

He bought ink that was scented with lavender oil, paper woven with silk threads, a leather bound journal that reminded him of the books that Lady Redgrove had once sent him.

He would ask Mihorogi to send them to Eressea, Lady Redgrove had once stood up to Crawford, she would explain everything, she would understand.


	16. Chapter 16

(i)

Aya’s mouth went dry when he saw Chloe in black silk and he found himself licking his lips with a swollen tongue. He knew he was not at his best, just having come in from walking along the beach with Free, he knew his face was wind burned and that his hair needed combing, because it was a mass of loose tendrils about his face and neck but there was something about the way that Chloe looked at him that made it irrelevant.

Chloe was wearing black pinstriped lightly with silver, a silk shirt that billowed at his waist and cuffs, but tight leather trousers that were formed to his thighs. Suddenly Aya felt warm and he wasn’t sure why.

Chloe’s light coloured eyes burned like fire as they appraised him. Aya found his breath catching in his throat.

Free looked between the two of them, “I’ll just go check on Yuki,” he rumbled, his voice was like stone moving, deep and rich. Aya wanted to thank him but the words were lacking.

“Bedroom,” Chloe managed, “now.” 

Aya nodded and took the outstretched hand and knew that he had had nothing in his life that could compare to this. He had had passion with Crawford but this was new and wondrous.

 

In the end they didn’t make it to the bedroom, they found a small disused sitting room and Chloe, stalking much like a big cat, pressed Aya to the couch before smothering his face in kisses. “Do you,” he asked, “have any idea just how fucking hot you are right now?”

And Aya wanted to say, “me, you’re the one in black silk and leather with those gloves on,” but he was silenced by Chloe’s tongue seeking entrance to his mouth. Once he might have said “not here,” but Chloe was pressing his chest against his own and rubbing his thigh between Aya’s. Aya was long past the point of complaining and just made grabbing motions at Chloe’s silk shirt. Chloe just helped his thighs about his waist and making sure to fondle the ass he found under the layers of silk with his leather gloves picked Aya up and managed to walk him as far as the table before laying him down with reverence. “Leave the gloves,” Aya managed against Chloe’s cheek. They were soft and supple black buckskin, embossed with roses at the back of his hands and they felt like heaven against his skin.

Chloe just laughed, but did not remove the gloves. He peeled Aya from the kimono like a piece of fruit leaving him in culottes on the table, biting his lip, “off,” Aya managed, pulling at Chloe’s shirt, and Chloe was more than happy to oblige him.

Chloe’s skin was golden and lightly dusted with hair. Aya couldn’t resist running his fingers lightly through it making sure just to run his fingernails over the hard pink nipples and listening to Chloe hiss. It was a sound that maddened Aya more than he wanted to let on. Instead he just cast his head back to Chloe’s mouth and Chloe’s divine kisses. Chloe’s hands were at the waistband of his culottes, and with the way they were confining his erection, though not nearly as tight as Chloe’s pants, he was more than happy to see them gone. 

Chloe’s mouth was tracing arcane designs as they gave themselves over to hunger, there would be foreplay later, for now there was just hunger. There would make love later, for now there was just fucking. And that was the way that Aya wanted it. There could be experimentation and sweet nothings later, for now all he wanted was Chloe and Chloe was more than happy to oblige.

He jerked down the culottes to Aya’s knees, and Aya couldn’t help himself he laughed, wriggling as he tried to pull off his socks. “I don’t want to be naked in socks,” he laughed and Chloe looked at him for a moment and then laughed as well. 

That was what Aya cherished about Chloe; there was laughter, even in this. Chloe laughed and then tugged the small white socks off Aya’s feet careless of where they landed. 

There were servants to retrieve them later.

Then Aya was naked and Chloe stared at him, his eyes full of lust and softness. He appraised the white skin, like a potter inspecting his work, down to the scarlet v of pubic hair. Then his hand, still clad in the soft black leather glove cupped Aya’s balls, and Aya just cast his head back to feel.

Chloe’s hands were maddening, normally they were callused from tending his beloved roses but the leather was soft and yielding where his hands were not. Aya wanted to live and die in his hands, but Ran remembered.

His head snapped back as he gasped, “I want to,” he said and he knew his eyes were as dark as pansy hearts, he slid from the table and without further ado untied Chloe’s pants and freed his cock, he rubbed it against his cheek for a moment, scenting it like an animal as Chloe cast back his head and just felt, then opening his mouth he began to lick the head, carefully and gently listening to Chloe moan, feeling Chloe tighten his hands in Aya’s hair.

Aya didn’t let himself be directed in this, he had learned well from the Lady Redgrove and he wanted to please Chloe, to show him, to love him. He wanted Chloe to know who was kneeling at his feet and giving him pleasure. It surprised Aya that he was capable of this kind of submission, but he suspected that it wasn’t submission at all, that it was surrender, that it was hunger.

He suckled lightly on the tip in the way that had maddened Crawford, in the way that Chloe loved, watching through slitted eyes as Chloe cast his head back and moaned. Aya felt he could survive on only Chloe’s moans, on the gasped half noises, and the grunts that he gave as he tightened the grip of his thumbs against the bowl of Chloe’s hips through the leather of his trousers, and he took a deep breath through his nose, smelling Chloe, sharp and musky and the leather even as he bobbed his head back and forth along the length, until it pressed to the back of his throat and he gagged and then back so that his lips barely touched the spongy head.

“Aya,” Chloe gasped and against the erection in his mouth Aya grinned.

Chloe took his hands from Aya’s hair, where they had almost pulled his braid free, and cupped under his chin pulling him to his feet for a kiss.

Aya could lose himself in Chloe’s kisses, when Chloe kissed him he didn’t care about the Nemesis or Inabayama, all that remained was the hot battle of tongues and the taste of Chloe shared between them as Chloe wrapped his hand about Aya’s cock, running the soft leather against the veins and ridges he found there. Aya groaned into his mouth, he knew he would love these gloves, even if they were ruined by this encounter. 

“Want you.” Chloe murmured and Aya was more than happy to oblige him as their cocks rubbed together with the soft kiss of the leather. 

“Oil?” Aya asked, Chloe looked around the room for something that they could use, never letting up on the wondrous torture of his hands. There was a discarded butter dish and with a groan of disappointment Chloe took the five steps away from Aya to fetch it. Aya jumped up unto the tabletop and laid his feet on the chairs on either side of it, spreading himself open for Chloe’s view.

Chloe almost dropped the butter dish in his haste and his lust. He gave himself over to Aya’s kisses like a dying man. Aya fumbled the butter dish from him. “Watch me,” he said, wondering when he had become so wanton.

Chloe had no choice but to watch him, his eyes were fixed on the way the long thin white fingers scooped up the butter, which was almost completely melted and ran it over his puckered opening, then licking his lips, he slid one finger inside. Chloe tilted his head slightly watching the way Aya’s opening sucked in his fingers and Aya’s eyes grew darker.  
“Ayan,” he murmured, “I can’t wait.” 

Aya just held out his hand and pressed into the cock-head against his opening, forcing it inside though he wasn’t nearly stretched enough, Chloe groaned at the tightness and the heat even as the butter slicked along him. There was a little friction, and it must be hurting Aya but he gave no sign of it, just relaxing into the penetration.

Then he began to rock, his back making squealing noises against the polished tabletop as he pressed and pulled against Chloe’s erection, his fingers reached out and twined with Chloe’s, pulling him closer even as his hips pushed him away, and Chloe swallowed him with kisses even as the pressure in his balls threatened to undo him and Aya was writhing under him, rubbing the skin against his balls. The leather of his trousers was against Aya’s thighs where he had wrapped his legs tight about him.

When Chloe came it was with a force that rocked the table with a terrible creak, he ran his hand, with fingers still entwined with Aya’s, up and down his angry red erection and Aya came with a great exhalation like a death rattle, then he lay panting, his neck and chest flushed. “Love you,” Chloe murmured, pushing back sweat dark bangs from Aya’s face. “Love you, so much.” 

Aya just looked at him with eyes like the dark hearts of pansies and smiled.


	17. Chapter 17

Lady Birman Redgrove looked at the pile of letters that she had received with a disinterested eye and then looked at one a second time. The handwriting looked like Ran’s. She turned it over but didn’t recognise the seal, which she broke open with her thumb. She scanned the contents of the letter and then frowned. She cancelled her appointments for the day and settled down to read it properly.

_“My Dearest Birman,_

_I hope this letter finds you in better circumstances than the last, which I sent. I find I write you a hundred letters but send none. I tell myself daily that I will entrust my journal to you, twice I have even wrapped it, but I will probably never send it, and like the last letters that I have sent I will burn it._   
_I suppose that I am happy here, that will settle your mind, but I find myself torn, I shall explain in more detail. I have met the author of the Sir Alaric novels, and now I know what must happen next._

_To protect Alaric Celabrien sold herself to the Nemesis, but there she found someone who loved her not for her steadfast duty to Alaric. In the Nemesis Seraglio, she has found someone, who unlike Alaric who dominates her soul and overpowers her with love, someone who is her equal and her match, but she loves Alaric still, and she does not want to love this new man who serves the Nemesis because it betrays all that she stands for._

_She is a woman torn between the duty to her husband, Alaric, and her duty to her fallen palace, but also her love for Alaric who protected her to the best of his ability and her love for this new man._

  
_He would not tell me the ending; I think it would make it too easy for me to not finish the series. I wonder if I could have your opinion on such an ending, for myself I think the only option_ Celabrien _has is death, for she plans to kill the Nemesis but then her new love will be blamed for harboring her and she would not have him involved in any way. Her own death does not worry her, but she would not have him harmed, she wishes that she could remove them both from the war, that selfishly that maybe both could love her but she knows it is a fantasy, Both men are too possessive to ever share her._

 _The author uses a strange device, I find myself again and again taken back to his images of piskies, the one_ Celabrien _saw barely a week before she met Alaric who promised her a life of sorrow, the three she saw when her father died, the seven revealed to her before the fall of her palace of Brio, and he will not reveal to me if any others will be shown to her. I find myself wishing that she will see two so that there will be a little joy at the end._

 _I can’t help but feel that she hurtles towards her death because she cannot choose between the triumvirate she has found herself in, does she choose a love that overwhelms but betrayed her, because we cannot forget that a lie of omission is still a_ lie, _or a love who serves the man who destroyed everything she held dear, even her passion for Alaric. Beyond that how does she fulfill her duty when it will see them both betrayed if not dead? I imagine that sometimes she wishes she had never been born, for her repeated visions of the piskies have meant that she has brought nothing but sorrow to the lives she taints._

_Then her new lover smiles at her._

_I know you will understand, together we have read those romances as each came out. Perhaps, like many of the ladies of the court, I learned a little of life from the stories of Alaric and the fair_ Celabrien _, perhaps that is why I was so eager to learn more of the story. I dislike waiting for answers._

_Your musings I would find most interesting._

_Despite being so far from such determined confidantes I am not alone here, in my care, I have a young boy who too once saw the shadows set over Brio, his name is Yuki and he is as skittish as the rabbits that dart amongst the Eressean snow. He is brave and stubborn, though he hides behind me as once another did._

_Please, do not tell him the contents of this letter._

_I see Alaric girding himself for battle against the Nemesis if he suspected Celabrien’s fate, if you must share the plans for this manuscript, for I have no doubt that he will have questions, he was ever curious, tell him that_ Celabrien _thinks of him often, that she still aches for love of him._

 _But Alaric betrayed_ Celabrien _, he kept her closeted away on the shores of the inland seas and then when brio was sacked by the Nemesis he did not trust her to know, he did not trust her to do her duty by him. Perhaps Alaric feared that she would leave him if he told her, for he was ever unsure of himself in her affection, time alone in the Seraglio has taught her that._

_I wonder if you still miss Lord Redgrove, for I was assured that once you were close to him even if he was many years your senior. You once told me that you chose him over other suitors, what must it be like to have such choice I wonder, I have felt myself pulled through the undertow of fate and even my heart which should have been my own was dictated by duty, but where I gave my love I gave it utterly._

_When I am dead they will say of me that I loved not wisely but too well, and maybe like_ Celabrien _, in too many places. I wonder if one can be betrayed by one’s own heart as easily as by one’s lover._

 _You would like him I think, he is golden, like the sun, and he shines with an inner light. He makes me laugh and he cares for my opinion, he keeps no secrets between us. He is in love with life and love and me. Where Alaric once offered_ Celabrien _the cloths of heaven, he admits that that is not in his power to give he offered me his dreams instead._  
 _Perhaps I am young and easily swayed by such words as I was once fixed in place by a pair of amber eyes that still haunt my dreams, but they mean the world to me. Yet he is married, he tells me he has no care for his wife, and, in truth, I have seen that for myself, but still_ , _I must worry. It is my nature I think, and it is no different from my own situation. If you can find a way to tell him without letting him now I have been in contact with you please tell him I do love him._

_That, Birman, is my tragedy, I love them both, like Celabrien, but unlike her, I am only torn by the duty to my husband and this man who has become my lord. Please don’t’ tell him there is another. You have never lied to me or kept secrets on his behalf, and I doubt that you would keep such secrets if asked straight out and perhaps, like I have written to you I should write to him, that I should let him know that I am well, but I know him, he is possessive and he will raise an army to see me at his side again. The pain of his betrayal runs deep, Birman, he lied to me when there was no reason to, I perhaps would only have mourned in his arms, perhaps I would have incited him to another course of action but instead I found myself at a loss, Hurting I chose what might have been the wrong decision, my duty to home overwhelmed me, perhaps it was a mistake. I know that if I act on it there will be repercussions although I am yet to see the crux of the matter personally._

_You often gave me counsel when I warred with him, even over petty things, and you revealed to me the truth of your heart when it must have pained you to do so because you sought to give me the knowledge that being a veritable prisoner in his home prevented me._

_I am scared, Birman,_ Celabrien _has found herself in a situation well beyond her ability to understand, and the writer gave no idea of where such strife came from, and now I see parallels._

_I will understand if you cannot respond, like the hundreds of letters I have sent you before I have found peace in the writing of it, and if you hear, by way of my golden Taiyo-sama that I have fallen please tell him everything, even those things that would hurt him, please comfort him as you once comforted me. I do not know if I can bear to write to you again because it hurts to bare my soul so explicitly._

_Know that I have love for all in your household, as one school friend to another._

_Your Aya.”_

  
Birman knew the writing and the code was simple enough for her to decipher, she paused for a moment batting the letter against her cheek. Ran obviously put a lot of trust in her, perhaps more than she deserved. She looked at the portrait of her husband over the fireplace. She had loved him; it was one of the ways that meant that she could understand Ran so well, because she knew how it felt.

She went to the door, “I will need paper and a pen for writing correspondence, and could you please send Miss Manx to me,” she told the servant, “and,” the servant turned back, “bring me the latest of the Sir Alaric novels.” The boy, and almost all her servants were boys that she had stolen from other households for their prettiness rather than their talent, scampered off to fulfil her request.

She read the letter a second and then a third time, part of her wanted to cry but Ran deserved better than that.

“You silly boy,” she said leaning up against the window frame, “what have you gotten yourself into.”

Crawford never knocked when he came in. He just opened the door. “Are you keeping secrets from me, Birman?” He asked, his voice was icy and there was little give in it. She had to admire his intelligence network, often he knew about her daily life before she did. Perhaps he suspected that Ran would try to contact her.

“Isn’t it a lady’s prerogative to keep secrets?” She asked archly, sweeping her brown hair from her eyes with a diligent hand. “And a gentleman who is the soul of discretion to not press her on such matters?”

“One of your,” he paused looking for the word, “catamites told me you received a letter from him.”

She would have to find out which one and have him disciplined, this was well beyond the usual snooping that went on in the court of Eressea. “I received a letter today from an old school friend who had taken in the author of the Sir Alaric books, she revealed to me what is going to happen in the upcoming novels, that is all.” Ran had said that he wouldn’t ask her to out and out lie and yet she was doing that for him. “Would you like to see it?” She offered him the folded piece of paper knowing that he wouldn’t know the books through which Ran had told her so much.

Crawford read the note greedily, then he crushed it in his hands. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Birman?”

“Isn’t there honour amongst thieves, Crawford? We have a history you and I, I have played my revenge out on you by educating your blushing bride because it amused me to do so, after all doesn’t every man want a virgin who is a whore.” Crawford slapped her across the face, splitting her lip, she licked at the blood angrily. “I have all of Ran’s letters,” she said, “I have kept nothing from you, I did not then and I do not now. Perhaps he is dead.” Her eyes met his fiercely, “and making Omi’s claim to Inabayama only serves to anger the Nemesis. Would war bring him back to you?”

Crawford for a moment looked like a chess champion that had lost his queen, but then his expression became stony and hard. “Once we were lovers as well as rivals, Birman,” he said, “and we have played our games amongst nations, neither of us left those negotiations with our reputations intact.” He paused for a moment, staring at her, “but yet he saw through that, to you for the kindness you never showed another once your husband died, and me for the love I thought I’d never give to anyone but Naoe.” He pushed an errant lock of hair from his forehead. “He took two jaded seducers and turned us into sentimental fools.”

He went to the door, “if you do receive word from him,” he said and his voice was sad, “you will let me know.”

Birman went to call out to him, to reveal everything because after all she had known Crawford since she was a child. Ran had asked her not to. He went to close the door behind him, “Crawford,” she called out, “he really did love you, you know.” Crawford offered her a rather dead smile, “He might have stayed where you could protect him if you’d ever told him that.”

Crawford’s laugh was rueful. “I did,” he said to her, and then so quietly she was almost sure she had misheard him. “Once.”


	18. Chapter 18

(i)

The gathered noblesse of the court of the Nemesis gathered for the poetry reading. It was to be Aya’s first encounter with the Nemesis but he was surprised to find his throne shrouded in a black shawl. He sat next to Chloe who was amiably playing with the end of his braid in a distracted manner as Free sat to the other side of him, shuffling his deck of cards.

Sakura sat, with her hair veiled by black silk and her face framed with golden coins, glaring at Aya for reasons he couldn’t be sure of. Her hands were clenching and unclenching in her dress, and Aya didn’t know because he had always been kind to the girl. She sat next to the veiled throne and her eyes promised murder.  
Chloe just smiled at her and continued to play with Aya’s hair.

The poet was a woman Aya thought he might have seen before, but he wasn’t sure. He recognised the set of her head more than her face or hair. She wore a long blue gown fastened here and there with silk roses in the Atzaran style. She had blue silk roses in her hair as well, and a beautiful silver comb fastened with sapphires. 

She stepped into the center of the circular room that they called the Camera, and bowed at the empty throne. Her name was Rex.

She began to read in a crisp clear voice.

“I may ask for nothing just now  
But soon I'll be sick with memories  
Thoughts of them, their cries as I left forever  
All I'd like is one last chance to say goodbye, but  
Stinging tears are wasted time and  
My own needs are cast aside  
I'm trained to be ruthless, and yet  
These tears of mine won't stop flowing  
Though I try, the stains of my sins won't leave me  
Defiled, though still clean, their screams will linger, always  
Trembling, I turn away but  
I can never see redemption  
Stinging tears are wasted time and  
My own needs are cast aside”

Aya lowered his eyes to the onslaught of her words but it obviously angered Chloe because he tightened his grip around the end of Aya’s braid, but he said nothing as the noblesse clapped slow appreciation for the poet who had come so far to read to them.

“My lord,” she said to the empty throne, “I am at your command.”

“Another,” Sakura said, “something beautiful, for Aya.” There was venom in her voice, jealousy he supposed.

Rex looked around the room and then looked directly at Aya, there was something in her gaze that suggested that maybe she had seen him before too, but he didn’t know where or how. “Your eyes,” she said softly, reaching forward with a cold and claw like hand to pull up his jaw, “they are like the dark hearts of pansies but your hair is the colour of a rich red wine, what poem could compare with such beauty. Tell me, Chloe, Is his skin really as milky as it seems?”

“It is like porcelain,” Chloe answered coldly, “can you find something to compare in the cold halls of the old capital?”

Rex looked for a moment like she might sneer but she said nothing before she turned away and smiled graciously at her audience.

“Get in the cradle of the moon  
You have that swaying feeling  
Don't fall; endure it  
Show me the small star inside  
Might as well give a harmless kiss  
There's nothing to lose.  
Secretly...  
My little star  
Protecting you through everything...  
Good night  
Good night.”

As she turned on the finish her skirts flared revealing a pair of navy silk stockings but Aya’s attention was fixed on her hand, she pulled the comb and threw it. Aya saw the movement even as Rex shouted “Michel for Nemesis,” and lurched in front of Chloe.

The comb had been specially sharpened for it burned as it entered his hand.

Then Free was moving and quickly, something Aya never expected of someone so tall, and he had Rex in a headlock with her arms behind her back as Chloe could only look on in horror. “Why?” He asked, “You were honoured here!” He asked, his voice wavering in shock.

“Because a true Nemesis wouldn’t abandon his empire for a boy,” she spat the words out, “he wouldn’t condemn us to a needless war with Esset over a boy, no matter how lovely.”

“I’m sorry, Rex,” Chloe said as Aya reeled from what was being said, “that your poetry will be no more. Free,” With a sickening crunch Free broke her neck and then lifted her carefully, as if she was his lover, and carried her from the room.

It was only then that Chloe saw Aya clutching his hand, “A chirurgeon,” he hollered, “Now!”

Then as the court milled about trying to do his bidding, he looked at the girl beside the empty throne, “Are you happy now, Sakura, or will you only be happy when I am dead and Michel sits on my throne?”

“You are a lousy Nemesis.” Sakura answered, secure that he wouldn’t harm her.

“Nevertheless I am Nemesis.” He answered, then turned to the court, “Remove her from the Seraglio, place her in the west wing under guard, she is not to leave there except by my explicit order.”

“But I did nothing.” She protested.

“You did enough.”

Aya was pale but Chloe mistakenly attributed it to shock from the wound. 

It left one thing absolute. Aya had taken the blow for him.

(ii)

Aya sat as the chirurgeons tended his wounded hand; he was still despite what must have been terrible pain. Chloe was busy in his role dealing with the aftermath of such a betrayal, he wasn’t sure if Sakura had been involved but there was a lot of supposition that she would have had to be. It was she who had pressed for Rex to come, and it was she that pressed Chloe that Aya be invited where even as favourite of the Seraglio he wouldn’t have been.

But the details kept running over and over through Aya’s head, he had saved the Nemesis, no he had saved Chloe. But Chloe, who he loved, was the Nemesis, who had destroyed his home.

When Yuki came in to see if he was all right he waved away the chiurgeons and then opened his arms to the boy, who was wary of such open displays but still wrapped his arms about Aya’s chest, and wept like a child. 

(iii)

Chloe sent for Aya that night, not to share supper as they always did, but to share his bed. Aya wiped away his tears, and sliding a long piece of glass into the bandage on his hand honoured the summons.

Free was characteristically silent as he led Aya through the corridors but before he opened the door to Chloe’s private suite he reached over and kissed Aya on the forehead, it was a fraternal gesture and Aya thought his heart would shatter into a thousand pieces receiving it.

Chloe sat on the edge of the bed, with his head cast down so that all Aya could see of his face was his nose peeking through his golden bangs. “He burns like the sun,” Aya thought to himself, “but even suns must die.”

His decision made he went to Chloe as he once had for Crawford and sat at his feet with his cheek resting against his thigh. Chloe reached down and placed his hand on Aya’s head, “I love you,” he said softly, “even enough to send my empire to war for you.” He paused then. “I never wanted to be Nemesis, I never wanted this, Aya, please understand that. I used to respect Rex so much, she said what no one else would say.” Aya said nothing, “she used to call my father a braggart and war monger and she was right.” Aya looked up at him, he wore only a robe for bed. “I wasn’t going to send for you tonight, I thought I wanted time on my own, but I was wrong, I just,” he stopped and Aya reached up and put a finger to his lips.

“Let me,” Aya said and then turning so he knelt before Chloe he kissed him. Chloe’s lips were heavy and reluctant but Aya slipped his bandaged hand around Chloe’s neck and pulled him closer, “give me this.” He whispered against those fruit soft lips, “please.” Aya never begged so Chloe relented.

He gave himself over to the kisses and the warm fingers that toyed with his robe, and the bandaged palm flat on the back of his neck. Aya never pulled his mouth away from his, even as his fingers flicked across a nipple, squeezing it gently and pushed him back unto the bed as he came to his feet. Chloe was despondent but he returned the kisses and pushed Aya’s robe from his shoulders with clumsy hands.

He gave himself over to Aya in a way that he had never done before, there was complete submission in the way he lay there, but Aya never pulled his mouth away from those wondrous kisses.

“Aya,” Chloe said after an eternity of touching and kissing, “please, fuck me.”

Aya pulled back perplexed, “I’ve never,” he said, “I don’t know how.” 

“Then let me show you, love,” Chloe said reaching across for the oil and slathering it on his fingers, “watch me.” Chloe pressed his finger against his opening and Aya was unprepared for the erotic shock of watching his body seem to swallow it. When Chloe was ready he slicked his hand with oil and ran it over Aya’s erection slowly, making Aya gasp at the sensation, and then pressed against him with his slicked anus and pressed inside.

(iv)

Afterward Aya watched Chloe sleep with a terrible longing he couldn’t quite understand as he slid the shard of glass from his bandage and held it above Chloe’s throat. Chloe opened his eyes and looked at him, there was no recrimination or anger in the gaze. In fact it was dull. “Do it,” he said, “just do it.”

Aya dropped the glass to the floor beside the bed with a sob, “I can’t,” he said, “I can’t.”

“The sex wasn’t that good,” Chloe said coldly, “do it, do it for Inabayama, do it for your family, Ran Fujimiya.”

“You knew?” Aya asked, shocked even as he wept against his will.

“I always knew,” Chloe said, “Free told me, your history wasn’t hard to find.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?” Aya asked.

“Because you were beautiful.” Chloe told him, “because I love you.” 

Aya cried harder, he could barely see, “I can’t, Chloe, I can’t.” He protested, beating the bed with his fists.

“I know,” Chloe said wrapping his arms about Aya with no fear, just love, “I know, love, I know.”


	19. Chapter 19

(i)

  
The gathered forces of Eressea gathered at the bottom of the hill facing the massed forces of both Esset and the Nemesis. Crawford checked his information a second, and then a third time. Esset had declared war with the Nemesis over the collection of a certainJanissary from the border, the Nemesis declared it was legal and within their territory but Esset said it was not. This could have been avoided if the Nemesis had returned the girl but he had refused to back down. It was even said that the girl accompanied him everywhere as a slight to the elders of Esset, and there was even talk of him putting aside his political wife and marrying her.

Crawford couldn’t understand, why, after so many years of a flimsy peace the Nemesis, who was said to be unlike his predecessor as chalk was from cheese, was willing to shatter it, and for a girl. He thought of Ran, lost to him these two years, and believed he might understand, if only in part.

He wondered, in retrospect, if he had not pressed Omi’s claim to the state of Daryiia in an attempt to appease the tormenting ghost of Ran.

In the dark hours he could have sworn he heard Ran, and as he sat at his desk, he could feel the ghost of his warmth of his cheek against his thigh, yet when he turned he lost him again with the realisation that he was not there, that he would never be there again. He had been almost convinced that Ran was dead, that he had killed himself in the hills of Herensea to be with his sister and parents, but then Birman had received a letter from a girl who called herself Aya who spoke of Sir Alaric, just as Ran had once done. The letter had been full of cryptic asides that he had not understood and some he did, “If you can find a way to tell him without letting him now I have been in contact with you please tell him I do love him. If you can find a way to tell him without letting him know I have been in contact with you please tell him I do love him.” 

It was those words that instilled in Crawford the desperate belief that Ran was alive, that he was trying to communicate secrets in ways only Birman could understand but the knowledge gave Crawford some comfort, his beautiful boy, his Ran, his bride, loved him.

It didn’t stop his boy haunting him. Even now he could feel his breath on the back of his neck and the sweet innocent questions he would ask and then suggestions that would dazzle a general twice his age. Ran’s voice had deepened over the years but it was still his, and occasionally he would find wine dark red hairs in his clothes. He never let anyone else see him weep, he was too proud for that. Yet still Ran haunted him.

“Move your forces to the left,” the ghostly voice said in his ear. “That way you’re up against the trees here, it’ll make it harder for them to flank you.”

Crawford looked at the metal figurines laid out on the map and saw that Ran was right, he always was. 

Even two years after Ran had gone he still had two place settings set out for supper.

  
(ii)

Aya looked at the massed forces of Eressea, in the name of Inabayama, and Estet, then sighed. As much as he would like to deny it it was obvious that they were gathered here because of him, well not because of him personally, but because of his situation. Crawford was using Omi’s claim to call him back to him, he had gathered an army to restore Inabayama thinking that Aya would be duty bound to return to him then. Estet was using the excuse that he had been captured within their borders, which was an outright fiction, because he hadn’t been, and he had volunteered for the Janissary, and Chloe had gathered his army because Estet hadn’t backed down over the cause.

It was spurious, Aya was from Inabayama, or Daryiia as they had renamed it, he couldn’t have been more Chloe’s property if he tried.

Chloe was gathered with his generals as Free stood beside him. He could see Ken, whom he had met because of the mix up over the seraglio, he had come to apologise and he had struck Aya as being genuine but overworked, he was now leading the infantry, he wore a pair of razor sharp claws on the back of his hands for melee fighting, beside him was Yuushi who wore a whip sword around his back and cautioned attack as the best defence. Then there was Reiichi who counselled patience, Masato who looked as if he listened to every option but had his own plan that he didn’t share and Naru who was in charge of artillery. Most armies fell before him.

They had their counterparts in Esset as well, Berger, the Black General who left no one alive, Geisel, The Horned King, who outmanoeuvred his enemies into traps to crush them at his leisure, and Layla, the Silk Queen who seduced her way to murder and despotism, it was said that she had killed over a thousand maidens to bathe in their blood. They were feared and rightly so. Esset must have something planned if they had brought them to the front.

He was frightened, not for himself because such was irrelevant, death was the least he deserved for what he had done and who he had betrayed, but for Chloe and Crawford. Free said nothing, he never did.

  
(iii)

“Which one is he?” Chloe asked looking out over the army of Eressea with his spy glass. “Your husband?”

“Why?” Aya asked, rising from the bed to stand beside Chloe, the night was chill.

“Because I’m still unsure whether I want to kill or thank him.” Chloe answered with a smile, “he, whether he intended to or not, sent you to me.” Aya took the compliment with good grace and a dark laugh. “I might kill him just because you compare me to him, even when you don’t intend to.”

“I,” Aya began, Chloe silenced him with a kiss. 

“I think I’d love you less if you didn’t still love him,” he answered. “Ran loves him,” he offered with a rather calm smile, “but Aya loves me, that Aya and Ran are the same body is the crux, there are parts of you that are still Ran, it was Ran that took Yuki under your wing, and it was Ran that spared my life that night, but Aya is hard and brittle and beautiful. I can sometimes imagine how you feel, because I love both Aya and Ran.” Aya lowered his eyes, “so, please, let me see my rival.”

“He has dark hair,” Aya said turning his back to the armies, “and eyes like polished circles of amber, he is tall and dignified but he wears eyeglasses to read. He speaks softly and carefully, choosing each word before he speaks, by nightfall he has a shadow of stubble across his chin, and pen calluses on his fingers. He is darker than you, and slightly taller, more broad across the chest, he was an anchor I was happy to hang my life on.”

Chloe’s smile softened the pain Aya couldn’t help but feel. “Which one, love?” He asked.

Aya turned and pointed to the tent, “there,” he said, “That is my husband.” 

Chloe looked at the man standing there, “and the two men beside him, the redhead and the blonde, are they your champions?” He asked. Aya nodded. “I’d like to meet them, if circumstances were different I would like to meet your husband and your champions because they made you the man I love.”

“You’re such a sap,” Aya said batting him lightly on the arm even though his heart was warmed by the words. It didn’t frighten him in any way to talk that way to the Nemesis, who the romance novels called the Devourer of Nations.

“Ah,” Chloe answered with a grin, “and they say romance is dead, now I know why.” He laughed, it was faintly mocking but Aya knew he was only teasing. “And to think, I have made you my chosen companion, the one who wipes my mouth after a feast of nations.”

“Who said it was your mouth I wiped?” Aya answered with a grin, glad Chloe had changed the subject, he didn’t want to dwell on the past. 

“My ecchi,” Chloe answered with a smile, “now, do you want to go to him?” He asked suddenly.

“Yes,” Aya said, “I owe him that.”

“If you promise to come back, and take Free with you, I’ll let you go, I know I can’t meet with him, but I think you need to say goodbye.”

“I said goodbye.” Aya protested, “he just didn’t know it.”

Chloe cupped his face with his palm. “If he feels for you an inkling what I do, and knowing how you feel about him, I’ll trust you,” he kissed him on the lips gently, “after all, you are my captain of the Heaven Guard.”

“How?” Aya asked, “Why? I mean,” he stopped, “Chloe, you baffle and bemuse me.”

“Because once I nearly married your sister, my father petitioned the king of Inabayama for her, but obviously Eressea’s bid was higher, I have the portrait he commissioned of both you and your sister. If your sister hadn’t fallen ill I would have petitioned for you.” He stroked Aya’s cheek softly, “things have a funny way of coming full circle.”

“So you always knew?” Aya asked.

“No,” Chloe answered, “I believed you dead when you left Herensea, just like everyone else, but I suspected.” He kissed him on the forehead, “go to him, and say goodbye, come tomorrow things will change, and you and I will be nowhere near the fighting. I’d hate for him to die before you got the chance to say goodbye properly because I know you, love, it would eat you up inside.”

“Are you so sure you’ll win?” Aya asked.

“No,” Chloe answered, “not at all, but I am royalty and I’ll be whisked away from the battle at the faintest hint that things are not going to plan, you are my favourite so I’ll take you with me or throw a tantrum to make Yuki proud.” His grin was impish, “he is only a general, he will be among the fighting.”

Aya sighed, and then prepared to walk down the hill.


	20. Chapter 20

(i)

Crawford looked up from his map when Farfarello entered the palanquin, “there’s someone here asking to see you.”

Crawford glared at him, but it rolled off his back, Farfarello usually knew better than to disturb him. “There is no need for you to disturb me unless it is the Nemesis himself come to barter for Mamoru’s kingdom.”

“He has no interest in Inabayama, and believe me, I’ve asked.” Aya said from the doorway. He looked different, as if when he had left Herensea he had been a sculpture half finished, and the two years had broken the artist who had finished his masterwork in pain and self doubt. His hair had darkened to the colour of a rich merlot wine; his skin was satin soft and his eyes velvet deep. He was also more beautiful than Crawford had expected.

Crawford could not have prepared himself for the man that his Ran had grown into. He wore tight grey leather pants and a heavy white wool duster. His only concession to the autumn chill was a silk scarf around his neck.

A tall man with distinguished facial tattoos that looked like slashes in his cheeks stood beside him. He wore a sleeveless jacket and his leather trousers were only knee length, instead of boots the man wore sandals. He didn’t look like he felt the cold at all. “It’s good to see you, Crawford.” Aya said, “Free, Farfarello, will you leave us alone for a while?”  
The tall man, Free, nodded and went to stand outside but Farfarello looked first at Crawford who nodded, and then as he walked past Aya growled at him. It was a feral sound more suited to an animal than a man.

“One would think,” Aya said sitting down on one of the campaign chairs, “that he was angry at me.”

“It’s been two years, Ran,” Crawford said, “why have you chosen now to come back to me?”

“Aya,” he corrected, “Ran died with Inabayama and I became Aya.” 

“You took your sister’s place,” Crawford said, “now you’ve taken her name.”

Aya shrugged, it was a roll of the shoulders that Crawford didn’t remember. Ran had been shy and introverted but Aya was self confident and brave, at least on the outside. “Chloe said things have a strange habit of coming full circle.” He lifted the lead figurine of the Nemesis and moved it about in his long white fingers.

“Are you here to see my plans?” Crawford asked, finding safety in rage.

“No,” Aya said, “there is a terrible irony in that, Esset has used me as an excuse to start this war, but other than it endangers you it has little importance to me.”

“You would have been horrified before.” Crawford argued.

“My heart turned to ice when Inabayama fell. I wished for death and I was found unworthy.” He looked at the tiny figure in his hand, “things like war can’t impinge on my suffering, Crawford, even when fought in my name.” He sighed, “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why, Ran, why?” The rage burned white hot in him.

“A million reasons,” Aya said rolling his shoulders again, “A thousand million reasons. You were the anchor I chose to hang my life on and without you I wandered aimlessly and lost.” He stopped looking for answers in the miniature he held, “I wanted to come back so many times, a thousand times I wrote to you and burned the letter. I hated myself for what I did to you, but I lacked the courage to come home.”

“Then why now?” Crawford’s rage was white hot but his demeanour was icy. Icy disdain was something they had always had in common. Ran’s temper had been like the frozen winds of the tundra to the north, though his anger boiled and bubbled like a volcano within him.

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” Aya said ruefully. “I,” then the words were gone, they had abandoned and betrayed him.

“You left,” Crawford snarled.

“And I would again,” Aya answered, “but I still missed you every moment of every day. I ached for you, for your courage and your strength but I had to do my duty.”

“You were always honest with me, Ran, don’t lie to me now.” Crawford’s hands were closed into tightly balled fists.

“No,” Aya corrected, “we both lied, to ourselves and each other. I,” he stopped again terrified of the words, “sometimes,” he said, “I’m still the boy in Fujimiya colours terrified to meet you.” He snorted out a dry laugh, “and more than anything right now I want to move around this table and to press my cheek against your thigh and for you to forgive me.”

“For leaving or joining the Nemesis?” Crawford asked.

“I never joined him,” Aya said, “my sin was greater than that, not knowing who he was I loved him.” There was a pregnant pause as Aya placed the figure back on the table, exactly where it had been, then he sighed. “Were I a greater man I might not have done what I did, then maybe I could choose.” His eyes were downcast and distant, “my king raised me to be a captain of the Heaven Guard, then sold me in Aya’s place. All my life I have done my duty by Inabayama and I have failed. I made you a lousy bride and I was a failed assassin.” He stopped, “I wanted to see you before the battle,” he said, “I wanted to explain.”

“And what does the Nemesis feel about your sudden desire for atonement?”

“He said that as long as I returned to him that I was free to leave.” Aya answered.

“With your bodyguard outside I could rape and murder you.”

“I’d let you,” Aya answered brusquely. “I have always loved you, from that first supper when you were so kind, but you hurt me,” he stopped again, the fire slipping from his eyes, “badly.”

“You left me,” Crawford corrected.

“You treated me like a possession. You used me and then you lied to me.” Aya said, “I knew it even then, but I loved you anyway,” he knocked over the figurine so it didn’t look at him with it’s painted eyes, “I wanted more than anything to hate you for it,” he sighed, trying to rein in his temper, “I never could, and I can’t now.”

“What are you saying?” Crawford asked.

“If you could tell me anything, if I was haunting you, demanding one truth, one answer, what would you tell me? If I was Birman, or the maidens of judgment, I,” he stopped again, “I need a truth, Crawford.”

“And why should I give you one?” Crawford asked, he obviously didn’t want to give one. It was easier to hide behind his rage.

“Because,” Aya said failing to control his rage, “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, “as much as I loved you I thought that you owned me,” his teeth were gritted tight against the words, “I thought you’d just replace me.”

“How dare you?” Crawford yelled, “I love you.”

“You never told me that,” Aya answered.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Crawford answered darkly, “I did everything I could to make you happy, I tried to protect you.”

Aya took a deep breath to try and calm his temper, “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why?” Crawford asked.

“I wanted to say I was sorry,” Aya shouted, “to tell you that,” In a moment Crawford was around the table and his kiss silenced him. He expected Aya to fight him but he didn’t, he gave himself over to the hands in his hair and the lingering taste of the sweet red wine between them. When Crawford pulled back he rested his forehead against Aya’s, “I’m so sorry,” Aya sobbed against his mouth, “I’m so very, very sorry.”

“I was dead without you,” Crawford murmured back, “I only live when I’m with you,” he ran his palm over Ran’s hair, “leave me again and I’ll die.” Aya kissed him to silence him. Crawford pulled back so that he stood over him forehead to forehead. “I missed you so much, I missed you so much.”

Aya was characteristically silent.

“Do you want this?” Crawford asked, he had never forced Ran, ever, and he wouldn’t stop now.

“Yes,” Aya’s voice was broken, “but,”

“The Nemesis?” Crawford asked. “I can’t share you, you know that,”

Aya didn’t answer.

“I won’t let you return to him,” Crawford said, his grip on Aya’s head tight now, almost enough to hurt, “You’re mine, you’ve always been mine.”

“I’m not a possession, Crawford,” Aya said ruefully. “I’m only me, god help me it’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do.”

“You are my love,” Crawford corrected, “you are my bride. If you try to leave me again I’ll have Farfarello take you to Eressea before dawn.”

Aya lowered his eyes, “don’t hurt Free,” he said, “that is my price,” he looked up at Crawford, “he,” he stopped, “he’s not involved in this,”

“Then why bring him?” Crawford asked, knowing he could give him over to the tender mercies of Farfarello.

“Because he’s my friend.” Aya answered, “because of you all he’s never lied to me, he’s never betrayed me, and because he trusts me. He keeps nothing from me, and he let me go to kill the Nemesis even though I couldn’t do it.”

“How?” Crawford asked, his grip on Aya’s wrist must have been painful. “Why can you forgive him genocide but you can’t forgive me for trying to keep you safe.”

Aya laughed. It was a dark and joyless sound. “I didn’t forgive either of you,” he said, “I’m a contemptible horrible human being, Crawford, and I don’t know why you both love me, I can’t even decide which one of you I love, I lack the courage for suicide. All my life other people have made my decisions and I’m in over my head.” Crawford loosened his hold somewhat hearing those words, “you don’t need to hate me,” Aya said softly, “I hate myself enough for the three of us.”

That stirred something in Crawford, “then maybe I love you enough for you to love yourself.”

“And in five years together you never told me that.” It wasn’t accusing, it was a simple statement of fact. “There was a time that I would have given anything to hear those words from you but now they hurt.” He kissed Crawford again, “don’t tell you love me, don’t tell me I’m beautiful, because I’m not, just,” he stopped, “just don’t let me go.”

“And the Nemesis?” Crawford asked, he watched Aya react like he had been wounded. 

“He will understand.” Aya said, “he is the best of the three of us.”


	21. Chapter 21

(i)

Crawford awoke to an empty bed. He had a campaign cot that the king of Eressea had forced on him, and had gone to sleep with Ran, no he corrected himself, Aya, clinging to his shirt like a baby monkey. Aya’s hair had smelt of violets and his breath was sweet. He had simply removed his duster and boots and climbed into bed with him. Now he was gone.

It wasn’t even nearly dawn and as he sat up he saw Aya beside the brazier, boiling water for tea. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He looked genuinely contrite, “I don’t sleep to well any more.”

“You were never a heavy sleeper.” Crawford said patiently. 

Aya offered him a wary smile, “would you like some tea? I found some in one of the chests, I was going to make some for Free and Farfarello, I,” he stopped, “I’m at odds and ends, even with myself.” He apologised.

Crawford pulled the blanket about his shoulders and moved over beside him, the floor of the tent was covered in thick wool rugs and Aya was kneeling on them in front of the brazier. “You don’t need to be.” He said, “You’re home now.”

Aya obviously wanted to say something to that but there were no words. Instead he started preparing the bowls for tea. “I,” he paused, “in the Seraglio I made tea to calm myself, most of the girls had to acquire a taste for it,” he was reminiscing over something amusing, “half the time I was shaking as I boiled the water, I was so scared of what I was trying to do, and then when I got the opportunity I couldn’t do it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Crawford said quietly, kissing Aya on the temple, “you’re home now.” It looked for an instant that Aya would dissolve into tears, and Crawford knew that if he was Ran he would have, but he closed himself up like a fan. Instead let out a deep slow breath that sounded like glass breaking. 

“I’m tired,” he said quietly, “not go to bed tired but soul weary,” he said, “I don’t sleep because of the nightmares, Chloe gave me poppy wine but it didn’t help, I thought,” he looked into the fire as if it held the mysteries of heaven, “I hoped that seeing you might stop them. I’m selfish and terrible.”

“No,” Crawford corrected, “you’re just human.” 

“I’m the blessed son of a fallen kingdom, the golden bride of a wise man, and the chosen favourite of a nation’s leader.” He said ruefully, the tone was sarcastic and dark. “I’m a soldier who was not there when my country fell, I am a bride who abandoned his husband, and a favourite who tried to assassinate his lord.”

“Why couldn’t you?” Crawford asked.

“I can’t forgive him,” he said quietly pouring the water over the leaves and staring into the swirling water for long moments. “But he did his duty. I could kill the Nemesis,” he stopped again, “but I couldn’t kill Chloe.” 

“Aya,” Crawford found the word awkward to say and odd to his mouth, he expected Ran to come back but Aya was certainly not him.

“Don’t say anything,” he said, “I have said it all at one time or another.” 

“You don’t love yourself.” Crawford said, wrapping his arms about Aya.

“Not for a long time,” Aya answered, melting into the embrace, “not, I think, since Aya died.” He tilted his face to look at Crawford, “your need was enough for me then, I thought I could love you enough for the two of us.”

“But I do love you.” Crawford answered.

“I didn’t know that. I thought you used me because you thought I was beautiful, to show me off to your friends, Lady Redgrove told me that and she you were once rivals in seduction, I thought I might be part of that.” 

Crawford kissed Aya’s temple again, softly, reverently, “no,” he said, “not that, never that, not with you.” 

“Crawford,” Aya said softly, his voice breaking under the strain, “I’m so scared.”

“I know you are, love,” Crawford answered, “I know you are.” 

(ii)

Free turned the card on the frozen ground before him. In the night a tall man with shaggy blonde hair had given him a blanket that he had chose to sat on rather than wrap about his shoulders, but now he trusted to the cards. The shrouded figure of death sat on a bloody throne. It was a common misconception that the death card did not necessarily mean death, because it always did, but it was what the death was that changed. On the eve of such a battle death was inevitable.

The second card showed a woman falling from a burning tower. He frowned looking at the picture, the tower suggested pride becoming ones undoing. 

The third card of the simple three-card spread showed a man hanging by his ankle with his arms crossed and his eyes bound. The hanged man. He gathered the cards up and shuffled them again. “I made you some tea.” Aya said from behind him. Free took the bowl, “I do not like the turn of these cards,” Free said quietly, inhaling the hot steam, “let me take you to safety.” 

“My place is here,” Aya said sitting beside him on the blanket, “for now, if the battle becomes too heated I’ll let you take me to safety.”

“Farfarello said you were here.” A blonde man said approaching, “but,”

“we didn’t believe him,” the redhead at his side agreed. 

“Yotan,” Aya said standing up and offering them a smile that was a shadow of Ran’s, “Schu.”

“You look,” Yohji began.

“Different, harsher,” Schuldig finished.

“You look exactly the same,” Aya said, “This is Free,” he said introducing them, “he,”

“Is his guardian,” Free interrupted, “despite Aya being able to best me in a fight.”

“Ran,” Schuldig said, “why is he calling you Aya?”

“Because Ran died with Inabayama,” he said quietly lowering his eyes, “Crawford’s already awake if you want to speak to him.” He went to stand up, “I’ll go get him for you.”

“No,” Yohji said, “we came to speak to Free, to impress on him that he needed to protect you no matter what or we’d kill him.”

“Slowly,” Schuldig finished.

“Have they always finished each other’s sentences?” Free asked dryly. “It is strange, even among lovers.”

Schuldig blushed bright red, his fairer complexion betraying him. “It’s new.” He stuttered, “I mean the finishing each other’s sentences thing.”

“I missed you both,” Aya said with a wan smile. “I,” he lowered his eyes to the weave of the blanket; it was a gesture that was more Ran than Aya. 

“You could have taken us with you.” Schuldig said softly.

“Sometimes, especially in the first six months in the hills of Herensea I wished I had.” He reached into his duster and pulled out a piece of paper, “this,” he clutched it fiercely, “this is my safe passage through the forces of the Nemesis, take it and go to Chloe, tell him I sent you. Ken will be guarding the main encampment of generals, he has brown hair and wears silver claws, give him this letter, he will take you to Chloe.”

“Aya,” Free said shocked.

“Free can take me to safety and I can meet you later, but,” he sighed, “I can save you both, let me.”

“And what about Crawford, you broke his heart you know.” Schuldig said softly, “he has been a tyrant without you.”

“So he said,” Aya said, “he wouldn’t go, even if I drugged his tea and threw him over my shoulder and carried him away.” Yohji nodded, knowing it was true. “And I want to, I will stay and try to convince him. I promised Chloe I wouldn’t linger once the fighting started that Free would take me to safety.” It was an outright lie, “but he will take you to Atzara where the battle is a distant threat, he’ll take you with him.”

“Who is this Chloe?” Yohji asked.

“My lover,” Aya answered without pause, “the Nemesis.”

Both Yohji and Schuldig paused at that confession and Free leant in to whisper in Aya’s ear, “if you plan to use this battle as a form of suicide I will save you,” he told him, “and I   
will bring you back to Chloe, stay to save your husband if you must but you will not take the field.”

Aya smiled at him and took a mouthful of the tea, “I’m doing what I can, Free, I just hope it’s enough.”

(iii)

Crawford sipped the tea that Aya had made for him and looked across the table to Farfarello. “Are you sure it’s not poisoned?” The one eyed man asked quietly.

“Yes,” Crawford answered, “I watched him make it.” It was only then Farfarello drank from his own bowl. 

“He is a weakness.” Farfarello said, “one you couldn’t afford then, and one you certainly can’t afford now.”

“I know,” Crawford said, “but,”

“he is beautiful,” Farfarello offered, “he is no longer Ran, that much is obvious, his guard did not say a single word to me all night.”

“He is Free.” Crawford said, “the ancestral guard of the Nemesis, he told me everything, you know.” He poured more tea into the bowl from the pot that Aya had made. “About why he left.”

“And you believe him?” Farfarello asked.

“He convinced me, you are right, he is not Ran any more.” Crawford was rueful, most people overlooked Farfarello as anything other than a torturer that enjoyed his job, Crawford knew he was more than that; he was the devil that sat on his shoulder when he needed counsel. Where Crawford dreaded the battle that would come, at latest, mid morning, Farfarello was excited at the prospect.

“I did not see the advantages of such a wedding in the first place, you have found yourself fighting Inabayama’s war.” Farfarello said calmly.

“I thought you’d find such a war interesting.”

Farfarello’s laugh was entirely without humour, “I do, but this is not our war, Crawford, this is his, and he is worthless.” 

“Nevertheless,” Crawford argued, “he is my bride.”

“He left you.” Farfarello repeated, “he made you brittle.”

“He went to kill the Nemesis.” Crawford corrected him.

“They do call it the little death.” Farfarello told him wryly.

“He hates himself,” Crawford told his manservant. “Even more than you hate him.”

“That I find difficult to believe.” Farfarello said calmly, “in the upcoming battle, do you wish me to,” he paused, “rid you of the problem?”

“No,” Crawford said bluntly, “but don’t let him leave.” He put down the bowl, “he is mine and he would do well to remember that, now help me with my armour. I can’t imagine that Esset’s generals are waiting on me.”

“But,” Farfarello said, “They will expect you to wait on them.”

“If you get the opportunity,” Crawford told him, “You can enjoy yourself with the Silk Queen.”

Farfarello’s grin showed his teeth. “You know me so well, my lord, I’ll do my best to make it linger.”

“We must make sure that her kindness is repaid.” Crawford said returning his smile, “after all, Eressea is known for its hospitality.”

(iv)

Chloe looked at the maps that his generals laid before him with a bored eye. “So,” he said, “the short of it is that Esset outnumbers us by half again, and with Eressea against us we don’t stand much of a chance.”

Yuushi sat back and prepared himself, “that’s pretty much the gist of it.” He said.

“Open negotiations with Eressea, we might be able to bring them to our side against a mutual foe, and it will be profitable enough to place the boy king as viceroy of his own state.” Reiichi said, “we can always renege later.”

Chloe looked as if he was contemplating it, even momentarily.

“It’s what your father would do.” Masato said, “and I know you are not him, and unlike your brothers you’re not trained in warfare, but,”

“Rockets,” Naru said, “aimed here,” he pointed at the map, “and here, they might break up the majority of Geisel’s forces, we might be able to cast a retreat which will even up the odds.” He said. “I have rockets.”

“You always have rockets,” Masato said, “It’s one of the great givens of life.” 

Chloe snickered, “if Eressea is to join our side, Aya will achieve it.” He said then, “and the forces of Layla and Berger.” He said, “are the cavalry in position?” Yuushi nodded, “and the infantry?” Ken smiled. “Is there anything else you need?” Chloe asked softly.

“You on the first boat back to Atzara.” Reiichi said calmly, “we are expendable but you are not, unless you wish to place Michel on the throne in your place.” It was a chide from a man who had served as Chloe’s father as much as anyone really had, he didn’t’ want the throne but he wouldn’t wish it on Michel either.

“I can’t.” Chloe said, “not yet, and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, Free made sure of that.” He stopped, “and I have the terrible feeling that Esset is planning something, they’ve been too quiet.”

“Of course they’re planning something,” Ken said, “they always are, it’s like saying the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.” It was wry and jaded. “But we will do our best to work around that. Do you think Aya will be able to convince Lord Crawford?”

“They have a history,” Reiichi said, as spymaster he always knew these things, usually before anyone else, and he only mentioned them when they were pertinent, he was a spy and a master of information but he wasn’t a gossip. “If anyone can, Aya can.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in him,” Yuushi said, “I mean he’s in the Seraglio.”

“He has bested Free in fair combat.” Masato offered from the side.

“He is incredibly well read.” Naru said, “and he knows about chemicals.”

“He was to be a captain of the Heaven guard.” Chloe said, “and he has his reasons to champion Inabayama.”

“It’s just a lot of responsibility to put on a love-slave, is all.” Yuushi said.

Chloe just laughed.

(v)

Layla knew that the most powerful weapon she had in her arsenal was that she was attractive, she knew she was not beautiful, but that she had her own charm, which made men flock to her. They called her the silk queen because she maintained a web of influence that rivalled that of the elders of Esset. Her armour was made of red lacquered strips of bamboo that clung to her figure without weighing as much as that of her counterparts who had had theirs crafted in cherry red steel. Her hair had been dyed a merciless pink but was gathered into a topknot away from her face. A long white overskirt hung about her thighs, emblazoned with flame detailing that matched the etched red on her sword. Her only concession to her rank, as one of the three most powerful generals in the world, was a pair of golden bamboo wings on her back, they were not large, barely standing as tall as her head, and could prevent blows being landed to the head. Nevertheless every man on the field knew who she was and like all the other armies that they had faced, they would back down before her.

Berger wore little armour, just a gauntlet that rolled up over one shoulder and a skirt of bamboo over his silk trousers. They called him the black general for his treatment of the enemy, but he had dyed his hair into a streaming black tail. Later he would come to her tent streaked in the blood of the enemy and she would amuse him. She was only interested in him when he was covered in blood.

Geisel was the smallest of the three of them, the Horned King. He had been named for a helmet that had been smashed years before. Now he wore white silk and silvery grey steel embossed with his family crests. Everything was trimmed in red.

Esset’s generals always wore white, it showed the blood so beautifully. After Berger had been sated the first time Geisel would come to her and the three of them would celebrate until dawn, but only after Berger was quieted in his lust, he would not share her before then.

Layla couldn’t care less either way.

Now Geisel stood beside a giant crossbow pointing it at a grey palanquin next to a copse of trees, inside an armoured figure was silhouetted against the dawn. “The nemesis is over there.” She told him calmly.

“I know,” Geisel answered her with a smile, “but to catch a big fish,” he said pulling back the bolt, which was more like a spear, “you need to use the right bait.” He let loose the bolt and watched with a satisfied smirk as it collapsed the tent and who ever was inside.


	22. Chapter 22

(i)

The spear flew past Aya ruffling his hair as it continued on its path into the tent behind him. Dumbstruck he followed it's trajectory.

It was then that Aya saw how the rising sun silhouetted everything inside the tent making it a giant target.

Crawford looked surprised as his hands made grabbing motions at the metal spear that stood proud through his torso. There was no pain or horror on his face, only surprise.

Everyone around him was shouting. Aya could see their mouths move, he could see their panic, but as if he was watching a rehearsed play he was apart from it.

With almost clinical detachment he watched Crawford fall to his knees with his hands still ineffectually trying to grab the spear impaled through his chest. His lips were bloody as he mouthed several syllables over and over again.

Aya was surprised to see it was his own name, Ran, over and over again.

He watched himself touch Crawford's cheeks with fingertips he couldn't feel. HE thought he'd feel his heart shatter as he watched his anchor die before him but he felt nothing which horrified him, it was like it was someone else watching this, someone who didn't care, it was as if he had walked in on the climax of a badly acted play.

He felt his mouth moving as he said something but didn't know what it was that he had said.

He watched the blood dribble from Crawford's mouth in proportion to the way the color drained from his face. He knew he should have felt broken hearted or rage, or even something, but all he felt was a lump of ice in his chest as it overwhelmed him utterly.

Crawford died in front of him and there was nothing he could about it, and worse still he felt nothing. Farfarello was making a strange keening sound, like a wild animal, but everyone else was deathly silent.

"Yohji," Aya felt the word escape him but even to his ears, it sounded like someone else. "Free," he looked at the tall man, "help me into Crawford's armor, Schuldig," he looked at the other one of his champions, "take word to the Nemesis of a temporary truce, that Inabayama will stand beside him in his war against Esset for their treachery." There was no give in his tone, in fact, it sounded like a previously rehearsed speech. "There will be no mercy, no quarter. Farfarello, which of them did he promise you?"

"Layla," Free said, "he promised him the Silk Queen."

"Bring her alive to Eressea and all the toys you want will be yours." Aya heard his voice like steel grating over ice. He looked at Crawford, whose face had taken on a serene stillness. "This was not his war," he felt like he was made of porcelain. He felt like he was completely transparent and ethereal. "but now I'll fight it for him."

Farfarello stopped keening and pulled a knife from his belt and ran the edge over his forearm leaving a bloody went along the badly scarred skin.

"Tell the men," Aya said, "there is to be no mercy, there will be no quarter. Leave no man behind you, kill them all. Be relentless. The Chirurgeons are not to treat the soldiers of Esset, and execute any who disobey."

"Ran," Yohji protested.

"No," he corrected, "Aya, now help me or I'll put you down myself."  
Yohji went silent and Schuldig bowed, as he would to a much higher ranking lord, before he left the pierced tent to carry the news to the Nemesis.

Crawford's armor was a dark earthy red and slightly too large to Aya, but nonetheless, they helped him into the armor. Free remained impassive although Yohji was clearly worried. Aya still felt like he was watching someone else. "Aya," Free said, "are you ready?"

"Almost," he said, then unsheathed the long sword at his waist and lifting his braid cut it away, he turned placing the rope of hair in Crawford's cold hands. "Have someone say with him." HE said.

Free had, as Yohji helped Aya dress, removed the long metal spear and dressed him in a rich black robe. Aya, who was behaving like he was made of solid ice, but for a few odd gestures which cut Yohji to the quick, had insisted on it. They had even laid him out on his campaign bed. But in giving Crawford his hair was the only time he had looked at him.

"Are you ready?" Free asked again.

Aya sheathed the sword, "I can't wait," he grated out.

 

If his forces expected some kind of rousing speech then they were disappointed. "Your lord is dead," Aya said in his cold voice, "murdered by Esset, follow me and I'll give you vengeance." His voice was a deep and ominous rumble, "show no mercy and we'll buy his way into the Heavens. I am Aya Fujimiya, captain of the Heaven Guard and bride to Lord Crawford. Follow me and if you die today know I die with you. Today is a good day to die, follow me to vengeance."

The look in his eyes suggested that he would happily murder anyone who stood in his path. So they unsheathed their weapons and slammed the hilts across their breastplates in a mark of fealty and followed him into the field.

(ii)

Naru bounced about the racks of rockets like a child in a candy store. "I bought several types," he enthused, "these," he pointed to the smallest thinnest ones, which were painted a rather sickly green, "have a glass belly full of pigs blood, they make a bang and splat, good to start, people think that they're hurt worse than they are, they cause a great panic." Chloe nodded, pretending to look interested. "Now these," he patted one of the rockets fondly, "is full of liquor, personally I like to use the stuff Masato brews because it burns great. They go boom and spray, it burns hot but quick, now these," he was grinning, "are full of scrap metal bits, nails, and stuff, they go boom and spray bits of nastiness in a nice big circle." He was bouncing with glee, "now these beauties are full of liquid fire, once it starts, it doesn't stop."

Chloe just nodded, feeling overwhelmed by the joy that Naru was showing.

Yuushi walked over and leaned in to whisper in his ear, "there's a man here," he said, "in Heaven's Guard armor. He has Aya's pass, says he wants to speak to you."

"Let me guess," Chloe drawled, "alone."

"No," Yuushi told hi, "believe it or not," he grinned, "he didn't specify that at all, he just asked to speak to you on behalf of someone called Ran."

"Accompany me, Yuushi," Chloe said and walked over to the redheaded member of the Heaven's Guard. "I am the Nemesis," he said, "what is Ran's message?" He choked on it slightly.

"Crawford," the man, Schuldig, said, "was murdered this morning, Esset launched a missile into his tent and," he stopped.

"How is," he stopped himself, "Ran coping? I know Crawford meant the very world to him."

If that surprised Schuldig he gave no outward sign of it. "He has taken control of the Erressean state around for the duration of the battle, and he has offered you a temporary truce, then he will be predisposed to talk terms on behalf of King Mamoru."

"It is too late to go to him." Chloe said, "but not too late to join the battle, Yuushi, accompany this soldier, protect him as you would me."

"He's going to take the field," Schuldig said, "in Crawford's place."

Chloe swore, "Masato," he yelled, "Reiichi, Aya is going to take the field, if you can, stop him."

"Free's with him," Schuldig said, "and Yohji, they won't let him come to harm." His eyes were a calm and drowning green. "It's not safe for you here," he said, "I think it would kill him to lose you both, and I swore before the king of Inabayama that I would do everything in my power to protect Ran, the king may have been an idiot but it makes my vow no less binding."

"I don't understand," Chloe said.

"As much as I would like to take the field in Ran's place, I know him, I know that he loves you and as shattered as he is right now it is all that is holding him together. I must trust Yohji and this Free of yours to protect his body, and I must protect what is left of his soul. Ran was a gentle soul with the warmest smile and the kindest heart, the man that returned to us last night was cold but still with Ran's kindness." He took a deep breath, "there is nothing of that now in the man preparing himself for this battle." He met Chloe's gaze evenly, "he is in CRawford's armor," he swallowed, "I think he wants to die."

Chloe gave no expression beyond a flicker that he quickly suppressed. "Then we won't let him," he said, "but don't' call me Nemesis, I'm Chloe." 

At that revelation Schuldig pulled back his fist and punched him hard, "Schuldig," he said, "that was for lying to Ran about who you were."

Chloe turned back to Naru, "when you're ready, unleash Hell."

(iii)

Aya was an avenging angel moving through the armed mass of Esset's forces, carving his way through ruthlessly. His sword was like a beam of liquid light slicing seamlessly through his enemies. Heads and limbs flew around him but Aya seemed untouched by the blood. His skin remained porcelain white and his hair was like phoenix down flying loose about his head.

To his left Farfarello had coated himself in the carnage with an unholy glee and Free seemed larger than life, he fought with two serrated hooks and was as relentless as his master.

The forces of Eressea looked on the three of them with a sense of wonder and knew that they would win, how could they not when the very forces of Heaven were leading them.  
The shouting and screaming were punctuated by the wheeze of rockets, then the heavy bang of it landing and the inevitable shower of dirt. Occasionally a rich male voice shouted, "Shi-ne," and the forces of the Nemesis rallied to it.

Horses squealed as they died.

Men sobbed.

But through it all Aya was passionless and icy, like a porcelain statue come to life.

 

"Pretty little kitty," Farfarello grinned, grabbing Layla by the ostentatious golden wings on her armor, "all dressed up but you're mine now, little kitty, and it's going to be a long time coming." He reached around and licked her cheek, "You're the whore's gift to me, you killed my lord, pretty kitty, so I won't kill you, oh no, I'll stroke my kitty, I'll pet my kitty, and use all the toys I have to make her happy."

Layla saw the terrible hunger in the golden eye and for the first time in her life knew real fear.

 

"Beautiful boy," Geisel said, spotting Aya approach him, "If you aren't the loveliest thing I've seen today," he held his sword at a battle angle, "I might keep you as a trophy, and you'll find out why they call me the Horned King." Aya didn't answer him, with an elegant step forward he raised his sword.

"you want to fight me beautiful boy." Geisel asked, "if you can," he smirked, "then kill me, I'll even give you a free strike, go on," he lowered his sword, "hit me."

Aya said nothing, he stepped forward and without breaking stride slit Geisel's throat and went to push past him as the blood spread down his chest like a scarf but Geisel put his hand on his arm to hold him back. Aya just pushed him away with his eyes returning to gaze forward, Geisel grabbed at his feet so Aya turned and cut away the offending hand.

"Shi-ne," Aya said finally, crushing his boot heel into Geisel's head, "I have no further interest in you."

 

Berger was a cannonball mowing down all who crossed his path relentlessly. HE swung a huge axe through soldiers with the same regularity as a metronome keeping time. 

Yuushi faced him in his golden armor, his dagger tail hanging at his side. "The Nemesis' white knight," Berger drawled, "this should be fun." His smile was vicious and mean, "you're no match for me, Hotspur."

"Maybe not on his own," Masato said.

"But what is it you said of us, that we were vermin, that we travel in packs," Ken said from behind him, "care to play with the three of us." Clenching his fists the three blades on the back of his hands shot free.

Each one alone against Berger didn't stand a chance, together Berger was hard pressed. As he avoided Masato's spear either Yuushi's dagger tail whipped him, opening up wounds with the razor sharp blades or Ken scraped him with his claws before they both jumped back out of reach of the axe.

If he barrelled at Yuushi both Masato and Ken harried him, as agile as monkeys.

When he attacked Masato Ken took the opportunity to unsheathe his claws into the small of Berger's back, and his kidneys. Berger launched forward, pulling himself off his impalement and straight unto Masato's spear. "none of you are a match for me," Berger spluttered through the blood in his mouth.

"But I am," Yohji said as he wrapped his wire about Berger#s throat and pulled it tight. Berger flopped and kicked, "there is no wat such arrogance is a match for the Heaven Guard." Berger fell dead at his feet. "If you want to say that you killed him," he said, "I won't gainsay you," and then he was swallowed back up by the fighting.


	23. Chapter 23

A terrible silence had descended over the field as night fell. Aya sat in his armour at the tent with a pen and paper in his hand as he recorded the names of the lost for a memorial. 

Each man came to him with a name and he diligently wrote it down, not knowing how the men adored him for such a simple thing. He was their lord, whether he wanted to be or not, and he remembered them, living and dead.

He had given over his palanquin to help the wounded.

But even as the men adored him they feared him for he was cold and bloodless.

He had fought with them, he had killed with them, and he had eaten with him with his bone white fingers, thin as sticks, but it was apparent that he had never been one of them.  
Farfarello suspected that if someone suggested it that they would kneel down and worship their beautiful, bloodless, Fujimiya. 

He himself had other amusements; it had proved remarkably easy to break the enemy general, she who had been Layla. He called her Kitten now, just because he could. In fact if not for the fact that she now belonged to him he would have complained that the amusement had not lasted as long as it ought.

The creature, Free, stood beside Aya, saying nothing, but the hands on his hooks said more than words ever could. He was ruthless but gentle; Farfarello found the paradox amusing.

A boy picked his way across the field, beside him was the man with the claws. Farfarello had admired his steadfastness in battle; the way that he had sliced through the flesh like water, even now his armour was splattered. The boy’s hair seemed almost green in the twilight and he wore a simple silk smock and trousers, he looked vastly unsuited to the field.

Aya reacted to the sight of him by lifting his head to appraise the boy, “Yuki,” he said quietly, “bring word to your master that if he can send me the names of his dead then I will also honour them.” 

Yuki bowed his head, “that’s not why he sent me, he thought your forces might kill someone else.”

Aya tilted a scarlet eyebrow; there was a smear of blood along his perfect white cheek. “A truce exists between these two forces.” He said, “even Ken alone could have crossed the field, as long as he did not attack they would not. They have their orders.”

“Chloe wants you to come home.” Yuki said as Ken shuffled his feet.

“Tomorrow,” Aya said, “I will meet him to discuss the terms by which I brought the forces of Eressea and Inabayama to his aid against the Nemesis, tell him that.” His voice was chilly, “but before you return have something to eat, you look pale.” He looked at his guardian, “you, too, Ken, I would not have any at my table go hungry.”

“This isn’t your place,” Ken stammered, “Your place is with Chloe.”

“Is it?” Aya asked, “surely my place was with my husband but I abandoned him, or surely my place is with my king in Inabayama.” His tone was almost mechanical, “what I want does not amount to a pile of ashes in this world, I have only my duty. I will explain that to Chloe on the morrow.” Then he stood up, “come, I will have food prepared, it is simple fare, fit for soldiers, but nourishing nonetheless.”

“Aya,” Yuki protested, “you look so unhappy.”

Aya stumbled for a moment, “I’m sorry, Yuki, there is nothing of that left within me.” When he turned back his expression suggested that he was as porcelain as his skin, like there was nothing inside him at all.

“Aya,” Yuki protested, “what made you so cold?”

Aya’s laugh was bloodless and cold; there was nothing of humour in it at all. “Love and duty do not bedfellows make, Yuki, when your time comes, make sure you choose one over the other. I am a Fujimiya, we do our duty by Inabayama.”

“That’s just an excuse,” Yuki protested, “You just won’t admit that you are a normal person and you have wants and needs and you can be hurt too.”

Aya’s expression was fond but cold. “My wants and needs died this morning, Yuki, I have nothing left inside me, surely that is reason enough to embrace my duty.”

“And your duty to Chloe?” He asked.

At that Aya lowered his eyes. They were still hard like chips of flint. “Chloe must understand what it is that I do, my duty to him as the Nemesis is second to my duty to Mamoru as king.” He walked to the cook pot, “come, eat, the food is good.” Then he went to walk away, “but tell Chloe what I said, that I will honour his dead with my own.” Free trailed along behind him like a ghost but Ken noticed the book he had left open and inscribed in the pages was the name “Crawford of Eressea, beloved husband and father, general and inquisitor,” he just didn’t know what it meant.

 

They returned to Chloe guided through the forces by Aya’s blonde guardian who introduced himself as Yohji. Yuki went to the blonde Nemesis and regardless of his usually aloof pride threw himself about his waist and sobbed.

“He won’t come back,” Ken said, “he said he had nothing left except his duty to Inabayama, but I don’t get it, he gave up his duty before.”

“No,” Chloe said, “he came to Atzara to kill me.” He corrected them even as he ineffectually patted Yuki on the back, “in the end he couldn’t, so he failed his duty even in that. What other news do you have for me?”

“He is recording the names of the dead,” Ken lowered his eyes, “he said that if we send the names to him he will record them too, that he will give our men the same honour as his own.” 

Chloe nodded, “did you see the book?”

Ken nodded, “I only read a few names, but one stuck out, it didn’t look like it had been written in ink, more like, well,” he stopped, “blood, and it was bigger than the rest.”  
“What was it?” Chloe pressed.

“It said Crawford of Eressea, beloved husband and father, general and inquisitor.” 

Chloe went silent, then he lowered his head and his hand on Yuki fell still. After a long and uncomfortable pause he asked, without raising his eyes, “Is Free with him?” Ken murmured assent.

“Then that is all we can do.” He said, “This is Aya’s grief, we cannot change or alter it, all we can do is be patient and be there when he needs us.” 

“But,” Yuki protested. “Aya loves you.”

Chloe knelt before him on the carpet, pulling the boy into his arms, “There is a story, that rings like a bell,” he said reciting a ballad, “of a man who loved not wisely but too well.” 

“I don’t understand,” Yuki said.

Chloe sighed, “Aya told me everything, every word in his power to give,” he was stroking Yuki’s hair as much to calm himself as the boy who was serving as his page, “how he had come to Atzara to kill me but couldn’t, because by the time he realised what I was he loved who I was.” He stopped again, searching almost aimlessly for the words he found lacking, “how as a boy he was sold into a marriage for Eressean glass, to a man who was kind and loved him, and being young and overwhelmed by such a love loved him back.” There was a moment’s pause, “and because such love is young and naive doesn’t make it any less powerful.” 

“The man who died,” Ken stammered, “he was…”

“Crawford of Eressea,” Chloe finished.

“Then, the coldness, the ice,” Ken protested, “The slaughter, he’s grieving?”

“Perhaps,” Schuldig said from the rear of the tent, “but the Fujimiya repress, not express.” He stopped, “Like his father and uncles before him he will sacrifice himself for the good of the kingdom rather than admit a single flicker of pain.” His tone was disdainful, “which is ironic really, as the Fujimiya feel so much.”

“How dare you speak of the royal favourite so?” Ken said unsheathing his claws by clenching his fists.

“I am the partner of his champion,” Schuldig said quietly, “I travelled with him from Eressea when he was a naive and loving boy, I stayed by his side in Herensea where the people loved him for his kind heart and nursed him through the death of his sister, and I lamented his loss when he ran to Atzara to kill the Nemesis, and I was there last night when a shadow of him returned to us. In many ways I know Ran better than he knows himself.” 

Chloe looked forlorn, “he needs time, Ken, and love, and that’s all we can give him.”

“No,” Schuldig said, “it’s all that he will accept.”

 

Aya waited until Free was asleep to slip from the tent into the woods behind it. He measured the belt in his hands and picked a sizeable looking tree bough. It overlooked a small and clogged pond. He threw the metal buckle over the tree keeping one end in his hand and then rigged a simple twisted noose.

She walked out of the water without a single drop of water to mar her loveliness, her hair was like moss down her back and her dress like the algae on the water. She pressed a clammy cold finger to his lips and shook her head, he looked at the water and she shook her head again, then she reached up and with corpse chilled lips kissed his forehead before she began to sing, and this time he was close enough to hear the words.

_“One for joy and two for sorrow,  
Three for pleasure and four for horror,   
Five for crying, six for laughter  
Seven for sons and eight for a daughter,  
Nine for diamonds and ten for gold  
And eleven is a secret that cannot be told.”_

It was the rhyme he knew but it was different, reversed.

She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him again, then with her hands on his waist turned him back towards the tent and then not so delicately shoved him. “One for joy,” she repeated, “two for sorrow.”

And Aya understood, with a heart that felt like a lump of lead in his chest, he returned to the tent, and accepted Free’s slap without comment. The belt he left behind.


	24. Chapter 24

Chloe couldn’t believe how still Aya sat across from him. He was like a statue, his hair roughly cut about his face and his braid gone. The only sign of injury on him was a split lip. He wore livery from which the insignia had been ripped, and the dark linen made him look pale. He wore a satin sash about his waist, that was the same colour of violet grey of his eyes, but a black ribbon about his arm for mourning. He wore a single golden pendant from his right ear and he looked that he might at any moment shatter into a thousand brittle pieces. Chloe wanted to get up, to dismiss the soldiers and notaries, the squires and the champions and enfold his arms about Aya, to hang himself on that brittleness in the hope that such a display might bring him a moment’s comfort. It was clear that Aya, however, felt no pain. He reacted like an automata, a beautiful clockwork doll, different from the man who had left him.

It was apparent to all that both Crawford’s bride and the Nemesis’ favourite had been locked away as the terrible ice descended over him. Where the gathered nervously sat drinking or talking amongst themselves. Aya sat as still and silent and porcelain.

Behind him, eschewing the seat he had been offered, stood Free. Unlike everyone else, even Chloe, he wore no livery, just a tight fitting black vest and a pair of loose trousers that ended a midshin. Rather than boots he wore sandals.

Schuldig had return to Aya’s side and now sat beside Yohji and the two were talking quietly amongst themselves with quiet but rather telling looks at Aya as they did so.

Ken sat between Yuushi and Reiichi polishing the claws of his bugnuks as intently as he could to avoid looking at anyone.

The representative of the Elders of Esset, a small unctuous man who continually wiped at his nose, he kept looking at Aya’s manservant, and the purple haired girl sat on the floor beside him, with a look of absolute horror. The one eyed man, who Schuldig had called Farfarello, seemed to ripen under his feet. His hair was bleached, but the detail that Chloe noticed above all others was that he had filed his teeth to points. Chloe was glad that the man was controlled.

“On behalf of King Mamoru of Inabayama and Naoe of Eressea, and the army gathered by my husband in their name,” Aya’s tone was absolutely passionless as if he practiced his lines. “In the interests of Inabayama.”

“Daryiia,” Yuushi corrected, “Inabayama fell with the towers.”

There was a metal cup in Aya’s hand that he had been rolling around, he slammed it down on the table with enough force that it snapped the stem. “Inabayama,” he corrected, “where the goddess laid to rest her bones after creating the world, where she bathed the sweat from her skin in the waters off the Fujimiya estate, where each of the kings, even before the ascension of the Takatori, raised a tower in her honour. That Inabayama fell was inevitable, and possibly even necessary,” he paused, there was no expression in his voice, “the elimination of the nobles, even of my parents, I understand, to avoid raising an army against you in their name. As a Fujimiya trained in warcraft I understand completely, but as a man I cannot forgive, but you pulled down the towers.”

Chloe could not believe how Aya had changed he was utterly emotionless, like a doll.

“If you thought that by pulling down the towers that you would demoralize the people then you made a terrible mistake,” he paused, “Eressea gathered the refugees in Mamoru’s name and like me we were angered by the sacrilege. I am the Lord Fujimiya, last of my house, and descended from the goddess herself, born to serve Inabayama, and I will do what I can to restore the towers.”

“What is it you want for Inabayama?” Reiichi asked.

“I do not ask that the Nemesis rescind its control over Inabayama,” Yuushi snorted, “but I do ask that you install Mamoru as viceroy, to restore its name and let us rebuild the towers.” He stopped. “The people of Inabayama gathered with you against a common foe this is all we ask in exchange.”

“As my favourite,” Chloe said calmly, “you could ask anything of me, for nearly two years you could have begged this of me,” Chloe said, “and yet you did not. There was a time I would have given to you this kingdom for a smile. Do you ask me as Ran Fujimiya, champion on Inabayama, or as Aya, favourite of the Nemesis?” For a moment an emotion flickered across Aya’s face, as quickly as a butterfly beating its wings, then it was gone. “There is nothing in this request I would have been disinclined to give you.”

“Perhaps,” Aya said, “but this drove me from my husband and I would not have had it bring a rift between us.”

“I will restore Inabayama as a viceroyship,” Chloe said calmly, “give Layla over to us for trial.”

Farfarello laughed, it was a dry humourless sound. “No,” he said patting her head patiently.

“The Elders of Estet would like her returned so she could be punished for her failure.” The nasal representative of Estet offered,

“She is not for sale,” Aya told him firmly, “she is being held for the murder of Lord Crawford, my husband, and her fate is for Naoe to decide. She has been brought around to this and no one can guard her better than Farfarello.”

“That,” Chloe said, “I do not question, but my people will demand such a prisoner to bring to trial for war crimes.”

“I’ll make her suffer,” Farfarello grinned, “she’ll even enjoy it.”

“We don’t question that,” Ken offered, “But the people demand a public execution, options a lifetime of slavery can’t offer.”

“Slavery,” Farfarello barked out a laugh, “my lovely Kitten, are you my slave?”

“No,” she answered calmly, “you protect and love me.” Her voice was animated and joyous, and she had beatific smile like a saint. She wore the same liberated livery as Aya, but Farfarello wore Eressea’s crest.

“If you must execute someone,” Aya said looking at the Estet representative, “he is sat there.”

The representative swallowed and visibly paled. 

“We have a woman in prison in Atzara, for attempting to murder her own son,” Reiichi said, “Tsuji, she was slated for execution, we will try her in Layla’s name, this will appease all concerned.”

“But,” the representative protested.

“Farfarello,” Aya said quietly, It was a command. Farfarello turned and embedded the rim of his cup in the man’s chest but then twisted it, killing the man outright, Aya looked over as the man toppled from his chair, “thank you, he was annoying me terribly.”

For a moment Chloe was horrified that the Aya that he loved could be so callous, but reminded himself that the unctuous man was unnecessary and that Aya’s grief was new and raw and that he would behave in different ways because of it.

Ken looked over at the man lying dead on the floor, “death by tea cup,” he said “interesting.” Then he turned to Aya, “so will you be returning to Atzara with us?”

“No,” Aya answered and everyone at the table, except Layla turned to look at him. “I am the last of the Fujimiya, I am descended from the goddess and I must do my duty by Inabayama, even if it destroys me.”

Chloe stood up, “leave us,” he said, they left but both Yohji and Schuldig looked to Aya first but left at his nod.

Chloe moved around the table to stand beside Aya, “Will you not return to me?”

Alone Aya’s expressions were slightly less guarded but still as hard as stone and his eyes were like chips of freckled granite. “Mamoru needs me, not as the Nemesis’ favourite, or as Crawford’s bride, but as a Fujimiya, there’s no one else.”

“I know,” Chloe said, “just promise me,” he started. Aya’s kiss was commanding and silenced his desire to speak.

“It’s not meant to be, love,” he said, “we belong to different states that both require different things of us.” He pressed Chloe’s palm to his cheek. “It’ll be alright,” he said, “we’ll see each other sometimes.”   
  


 

Outside the tent Free stood at the door with his arms crossed, “will you return to Inabayama?” He asked Yohji and Schuldig both nodded. “He will need us,” he continued, “he is not the kind of man to realise that there is a place for him apart from his duty.”

“Do you not belong to the Nemesis?” Yohji asked.

Free’s smile was sinuous, “I am Free.” He answered.


	25. Chapter 25

The wedding of Aya Fujimiya to the Lady Miyu had been the social event of the year. A myriad of wives had been presented to him and each had been judged and found unworthy but he persisted in his search for a bride. Beautiful girls, rich girls, handsome boys, clever boys, all were turned away.

  
The Lady Miyu had come to the newly rebuilt palace as a concession, the girl had been born blind and although fair there were those, including her father, who thought the girl had no more worth than as a servant to the king. 

Lord Fujimiya had been a quiet lord that refused the kindnesses that the king offered him, he sat in his room as the towers were rebuilt and did nto read the books they gave him, he ignored the paintings with which they decorated his rooms and turned away the whores that the guard, Ken, procured for them, sometimes even simply sharing tea with them.

As the days turned into weeks he became more and more reclusive, he barely ate and sat at his window looking out to sea.

Weeks turned into months and he let his appearance slide despite Free’s best attempts otherwise.

Months slowly turned into years. And still he cared little.

Then one day, maybe three years later, he just got up, he removed the black livery he had worn all day and pulled on a white sweater, he complimented the maid on the set of her head and took pride in his appearance, cutting his hair and shaving away the beard he had let grow, he left the room and walked along the battlements of the great and proud palace, with a courtesy on his lips for everyone he passed. But still his gaze stared past them, out to the choppy waters of the bay.

His guards walked alongside him, chattering gaily but everyone in Inabayama knew he didn't listen and that they were forbidden from letting him to the docks and it became a source of great rumours that the Lord Fujimiya was really dead and it was really a monster born of the sea that walked among them. Women still gazed at him longingly for he was handsome and rich and a prince, but he might as well be a monster for all the attention he paid them. 

About the truth there was great supposition but the rumours grew as he sat in the room looking out to sea and then doubled when he wandered the palace and then the city.   
When he visited the opera house it was said he was claiming a mistress who he would drown in the roiling waters of the bay. He went to see the performance. 

If he stopped to smile at a child it was said the child would die of colic. They never did. 

That he was a prisoner of his duty was the only truth they bandied about.

 

  
So when the king decided he should marry, to continue the line of Fujimiya he agreed without comment, but still found fault in all the wives he was presented with. He had no interest in beauty or wit, in knowledge or art. So when the Lady Miyu arrived, her hair in two brown braids about a face obscured by a thick bandage about her eyes, no one expected the Lord Fujimiya to give her more than the time of day.

They were mistaken. He became her guide, walking alongside her with his arm for her to rest her hand on so he could take her down the corridors, past the buildings and in a low voice he told her what he saw. If she knew anything of his past she gave no sign of it. 

She was a quiet girl whose blindness had instilled in her a great shyness, having spent the best part of her life being reassured of her worthlessness, so having the attentions of any man, when she had been told that she was not worthy of even a common sailor’s grabbing, flattered the girl and gave the skin she showed under the bandage a rosy glow.  
The guards that waited on him, guards that were his alone, two knights of the heaven guard, the boisterous Ken and Free who was kind and tall, doted on her, and in many ways she was revered amongst them in higher esteem than the queen. 

When Naoe came to visit the king, which he did several times a year, he would have some comment for the Lord Fujimiya but to Miyu he only had kindnesses. The past that lingered between them, with the enmity that was there, was never shown to Miyu.

If he loved her he gave no sign of it, but he was kind and to Miyu that meant more than the passions of Heaven, for happiness in marriage was entirely a matter of chance, but Lord Fujimiya protected and cared for her.

When she heard the rumours of him and the great love that tore them apart she thought of her lord, cold and lovely and assumed that they spoke of his father, or the mysterious Ran who was sometimes mentioned. She didn’t believe it of her Aya.

Every day he brought her flowers and described their beauty to her in a warm voice, but it was a voice without passion.

That he was older than her she decided was irrelevant and he did not petition her father for marriage, as was common, he asked her. With a warm and gentle smile she accepted.

If she wanted him to love her, she gave no sign of it.

The wedding was a state affair, for the young king insisted that he owed her husband his kingdom and more, and all the way from Atzara the Nemesis travelled with his bride. He was a kind man, Miyu thought, and patient to her disability, who took her arm just as her husband did and described the world to her. When Free came to take her something silent passed between them and she knew that there were secrets that she was not privy to but decided that it didn’t matter.

She was led through the streets by Free, the common people of Inabayama pressing knitted baby clothes into her hands and bottles of perfume and their kindness after the coldness of her childhood in Brio, astounded her. Even if she was worshipped as the Lady Fujimiya they were kind to her.

For Miyu may have been naive but she was not a fool.

On her wedding night, as she waited for her husband she brushed out her hair, having removed the bandage from about her eyes, “you love him, don’t you?” She said, “if you wish to go to him I will not gainsay you. I will even say that you spent the night with me.”

“Miyu,” he said quietly, his voice a deep and loving rumble, “I will tell you a story,” he said sitting in the chair across the room, “of a man who loved not wisely, but too well, who tore his heart in many directions and in the end had only duty to rely on.”

Miyu raised her head to him and offered him a smile. “You are mine now,” she said, “and soon he will return to Atzara, I did not marry you for love, for such as I has no business with that, but because you were kind and you wished it.” He remained silent, “go to him, I can let you because I know you will return to me.”

He kissed her hand, “when all is dust,” he said, “they will not remember your blindness,” he said, “but that your heart was so great.”

 

  
Lord Fujimiya and his wife had two children, both with the dark hair of their mother and large blue eyes, but only their father’s skin to recommend them. 

They were well beloved, even if their father seemed cold, and their mother sometimes distant, and their daughter they called Hitan but their son they called Kitai and they were well respected amongst the countries of the world and when it was their time for marriage Kitai married the daughter of the Nemesis herself, and Hitan was given the lordship of Herensea on the death of Lady Birman Redgrove who had no children of her own but had always doted on them. 

After twenty years of marriage Lady Miyu Fujimiya turned to her husband and said, “go to him,” her voice was fond, “you have no duty here now, we have raised our children, we have rebuilt our kingdom.” He said nothing, “and you more than repaid your duty to me.”

“Miyu,” he started.

“I would just know what you looked like, what was the face that brought an empire to war, that drove men mad.”

“I was funny looking,” Aya told her quietly, “and my hair was like the smell of fresh blood, my eyes were like the of feel dark hearts of pansies and my lips, I was told, was like the scent of fresh new rosebuds. My skin was as white and cool as porcelain, I was striking, but I was not beautiful.” He said.

“And what do I look like.”

There was a smile in Aya’s voice as he answered her, “you burn like the sun.” He said quietly and then kissed her on the cheek. “I do love you.” He said.

“But you will always love them more, I know you love me,” she said and stroked his face, expecting to find tears but there were none, “but there is only so much room in the heart for love and I came last, go to him.”

So Aya did.  
  


 

In Eressea there is a great tomb and in it lie three men, to the left is Lord Crawford who gathered an army for a wronged king, in the centre is Ran Fujimiya, who loved not wisely but too well, and to the right is Chloe, the Nemesis who defeated Estet.

It is said that lovers meeting at their gave were blessed and that their love would be everlasting and some still told the tale of Ran who loved not wisely but too well and who shattered kingdoms and whose beauty drove men mad before he killed himself for duty.

It wasn’t true but it made a good story nonetheless.


End file.
